Hmm. Interesting. Despite our apparent malleability of form, fireworks still present a danger to god-children? (Or not so much, since she's threatening to make him eat it, lit). Or I guess they're enough of a potential nuisance to restrict access.

Didn't expect our teasing to actually land anyone in hot water, but I suppose it's his own fault for carrying contraband.

...although again, you didn't notice he was hiding it earlier. Going to have to work on our powers of observation, and slight-of-hand skills. We should recognize when people are hiding objects, or moving them around. Useful and in-theme to be able to make people doing those kinds of things. (And when we need to get tricky ourself).

>>549225
>>549226
"It's allright, Ms. Festa, I didn't really mind. I just made sure his good turn didn't go unrewarded."

"Well I don't want you two troublemakers escalating this into some sort of practical joke arms race."

"It's just some healthy competition, Right Chippy?" You pinch his is reddening cheeks. He crosses his arms upside-down, still dangling from Tiumbra's strong hand. "Yeah whatever." He says. Tiumbra narrows her eyes at the both of you. "That's what I'm afraid of." Chip turns back and forth impatiently in her grip. "All-right ma, will you let me down now?"

"What's that, honey? Let you down? Sure." Chip drops to the floor head first. His neck bends in all sorts of ugly directions, but he's no worse for wear. He shakes his fist "confound you, woman!" She scowls in return. "Next time I find you with a stick of dynamite I'm sticking it up your butt like a baby thermometer." "She then looks to you. "Keep it down, will you?"

"Yes ma'am!" you supply as you execute a perky salute. "Mmmhmm." She says. "I've got some people to talk to, so I'll be back. I'm going to send cousin Paradameus this way to make sure you rug-rats don't cause anymore trouble."

You hear groans from Chip and Nessie, but all Faan does is nod and take a bite of some thick meat.

Pff. Nice touch with the salute.

Offer Chip a hand up before returning to your seat. A simple gesture that demonstrates there really was no harm meant. (Even if we won that exchange. And had fun doing it).

While we're up, take the chance to surreptitious survey the room, see what's going on and what people are doing. Grab a little more information to process on before putting our tush back down.

>>549399
Good start, except that shaking his hand is an invitation to being pickpocketed, so danger, danger, danger.

"Dynamite Chip, really? You'd have better odds trying to get away with some fireworks. If you're gonna keep getting randomly searched you should invest in better stashing, better help, or plans that don't require things you can't carry with you.
"Now who's going to introduce this cousin Paradameus?"

>>549443
I meant more helping him up than shaking (he is pancaked upside down on the floor, after all).

And we only have one possession to keep track of. I'd think we could keep the box from being pickpocketed.

As Tia walks away you offer your hand to the ruffled caricature lying on the floor. He eyes you like his father, then reluctantly raises his hand. Your hands almost meet, but you hand snakes past his and latches to the back of his wrist. As you hoist him up forward and turn his hand palm upward. You shake your head; he can't be serious.

"Seriously?"

His absurd smile persists. "I wanted to make a shocking impression."

Now that you are standing you take the opportunity to look about you. From the endless host arrayed, you do notice some features of the population spread before you and after a reasonable time looking in all directions patterns emerge. It seems that this isn't exactly the one 'big happy family', but several. You see a few banners hanging over the districts of the dining hall. There four figures you can make out, it would be five if you could see the one hanging directly above you.

The first is the image of a rearing dragon, red and rampant, regarding the sword run through his belly with his eyes as he faces his back. Though its form is simplified and stylized, you can tell his expression is neither furious, resigned nor pained--it seems almost to study it's own demise with a detached, dispassionate interest. You see the contour of the dragon on the flag's other side through the cloth. It looks different, perhaps he tells another story.

The second is a an image of an armored woman--sword to her chest--half enveloped within the maw of the same beast. Like the icon before, the woman face signifies no trace of concern or distress but has a demeanor of stern serenity, knowing the peace of a duty well served. In fact, it seems that she is not being consumed at all, but rather being born. A rising phoenix cloaked in a glory of wildfire like a voice of Victory, a fanfare of Freedom, a compassing clarion of Championship. You cannot make out the motto, but the her name you can see clearly emblazoned: Jean D'Drac.

The third display too speaks of dignity and duty, but has no such vibrancy or life. It is a design of Celtic knots arranged the model of the skull. It's deep eyes draw the warmth from you and fills you with a cold sense of destiny and fate. It is a force that knows your respect--your admiration, even. Though it holds your camaraderie, and it recognizes you as a it's confederate as you do it, it does not have your love. You hear a cry of exquisite misery and anguish in those eyes. Instinctively turn away. When your eyes return, it is silent as the grave.

Your eyes turn to the fourth and see the force that binds them all together. It is a gentle will, but a strong one. It is simple, unassuming and draws no tribute to itself. It embodies all three factions and more in it's renewing circuit. It is a plain, unadorned Triquetra, it's power manifest in it's uncomplicated elegance.

There's really only one word you can use to describe it;

Unity.

You are stirred out of your trance by a painful pulling on your sore arm.

"..ay, I get it! Lemme go, Grendelle! lemmegolemmegolemmygolemmygole..."

You see Chip, both feet pressing your side and trying with all his puny might to yank himself free. It seems you've unconsciously tensed your grip around his wrist which, true to form, is squished and stretched ridiculously thin, like the knotted navel of a rubber balloon. You release, and rather than tumble to the floor again, he does a stupidly elaborate and irrealistic dive routine in the four and a half feet that separates him from the ground. By the time he lands and demonstrates an uncharacteristically inflexible split with a wince.

He looks up at your face and his own comic expression breaks and melts into concern. "Hey cuz, you alright?"

"Yeah... Yeah I'm fine."

"It's been fun and all, but if you're not up to it now maybe we can do this later? Maybe we should listen to my dad. Here, let me help you."

At first you refuse, but your fatigue out weighs your stubbornness and your arm is acting up again.

When he isn't acting like a fool Chip is very much a child. He's zany and thoughtless, but you perceive he is well meaning and sometimes sheepishly incapable of offering the help he wants to give. He does manage to get you to your seat a few steps away.

The worry on his face eases, but doesn't leave. He tries to give you a reassuring smile, but the clever young head on his old shoulders is still grappling with a puzzle it cannot comprehend. Faan is already at his side with his medical bag and Necessity gets up from her seat. "Fannie McCure, my boy, I want you to take care of this young lady's arm. Also, my pipe. Sissy, toss me an apple... and keep her talking. I need to speak to dad about... Something." His siblings obey, likely because they would have done so and would rather be here taking care of you.

Chip bites a chunk of apple, munches, swallows and blows bubbles and apple bits through the toy pipe. He then folds his arms behind his back and stalks away, hunched over like a chicken looking for feed.

(Before I continue with moar wall of text, please remind me of any suggestions I seemed to have forgotten, ignored or failed to address.)

Pickpocket watch: Chip has been near us. Double check that all possessions and items of clothing are still present and where they're supposed to be. Also make sure there's nothing extra--the dynamite likely was a fakeout and he has more toys still.
If he managed to do something anyway even with us being careful we should initiate plotting to put *him* in the peasant dress and pigtails he likes so much.

We may want to sit back down for the arrival of cousin party-pooper, just an idea.

>>549612
We still haven't gotten started trying to find out if we really were born earlier today or not. Ref:

>>549027

>>549556
Huh. Interesting set of symbology, but hardly enough for us to draw conclusions. Death is certainly one motif, and the connection between the concept of unity and the individual who greeted you should not go unnoticed.

>arm acting up again
Worrying. What is it you don't understand about your nature, and that they aren't telling you?

It seems to have something to do with your heritage, as they see to avoid the subject, and there have been several hints at a split or unusual parentage, starting with Unity's slip. (Pay attention to clues in that area).

Let them tend to your injury, but show a little more steel or strength. You're not going to let your first impression be letting... whatever this is get the better of you. Even if trying to put too much strength in before might have been the cause. Heh. Got to watch that, you suppose.

Continue to pay attention to what's said (and what's not, and what's avoided), and how your arm is treated. We've still got a lot to learn about what's going on here, and being observant will help.

>>549618

If we want to be metagaming about it: I applied one cheat, and our current cheating skill score is zero so we suffered a critical cheating failure. Apparently even cheating is hard.

If we want to treat this more seriously, I'd say we're not even fully sure where the heck that burst of strength we used earlier came from, or how much we were responsible for it. Was it seidr, and if so was it our seidr?

>>546923
>>546958
>>546998
>>547952
>>548051
>>548054
>>549019
>>549027
>>549200
>>549206
>>549225
>>549443
>>549466
>>549614
>>549615
>>549618
>>549622


"Here's the dirt you wanted to dig up, Mac. I suggest you lock the office and shut the windows when you open it; it ain't pretty."

>>549622
Well, I was just trying to put what we've deduced, OOC, in character.

From other people's reactions and conversation, Tory should have recognized that the others recognize or understand what happened with her arm, and that they know her parentage (and their have also been subtle hints about her mixed heritage). She should also recognize that the others have so far been avoiding talking about these subjects.

So we should be paying attention to figure out both the missing information, and the reason that the others seem uncomfortable with it.

>>549627

Fair, but there's a reason why I wasn't doing that:
If they're trying to lie to her or conceal her heritage then they're intentionally deceiving her. We have to give them opportunities to tie themselves into knots keeping up an indefensible deception rather than look like we know things they'd rather we didn't know. This is why we should be really forthright about the subject, because if they're lying about it those lies will eventually collapse. I mean really, trying to lie to a trickery goddess is just not going to work long term.

>>549626
Huuu boy I've got my work cut out for me.

Writing...

>>549626
Your list is a little overzealous, a number of the posts you reference were indirectly responded to.
For example there was the one where I was writing banter about the nature of the explosive Chip had, which presumed that its nature was unspecified. It was revealed that this was dynamite.

Candy Tory 2013/11/25(Mon)16:03 No. 549823 ID: 097017
File 138542422584.jpg - (374.35KB , 956x1300 , Nickstradamus.jpg )

>>549622
> Whats that? Hot-served magical apple whiskey? Hey, that sounds delicious. I'd like a serving of Hard Apple Seiðr!

Seiðr? Like sorcery and stuff? You look as Faan starts pouring a some sort of foamy spiced oil on your arm. Well, you might have meant to inject a surge of strength, but there was no method or ritual to it; nothing you could formally recognize as magic. It was more instinctual, reflexive to the force of your will--if you forced to make a conclusion you'd say that your body is having a hard time interpreting your divine nature.

Already you can feel the cool salve sink into your pores. At first it tickles, and then the feeling in your arm dulls. You might worry, but you consider it's probably some sort of painkiller. Actually smells a bit like wintergreen toothpaste--Minty. It's kinda nice actually. His thin, bony fingers knead your knotted muscles. He starts gently at first, almost imperceptibly. As he continues however, he let's you know that it's going to be a little painful. His fingers sink deeper into your aching sinews and it strikes a nerve. Ouch! A little painful, he says? "I know it hurts, right now it's just... ya know.. one of those... uh," he looks over to his sister "Necessary Evils?." She scowls, but says nothing. She probably knows he didn't mean it maliciously because his face says he was drawing a blank. He continues the massage with practiced motion, somehow knowing and seeking out exactly where (and where not) to press.

Well, you wouldn't call it evil, but you wished he would have giving you a little more warning. Despite the painful sensory feedback (or perhaps because of it) it still happens to be an enjoyable experience. Everything sensation and experience is wondrous and new to you, even though your mind seems to already have been formed on some irrecoverable experiences in your past... even though you aren't supposed to have any. Besides, having everything handed to you with a silver spoon wouldn't be fun at all. It's things like the pleasure/pain contrast that makes life interesting.

You sit back and relax (for the second time) and decide to chill and maybe gather some information as you wait for the Proper, Parentally Prescribed Party-Pooper Patrol to arrive. You close your eyes and an absolute deluge of priorities and tasks surge in your mind, and you need to get them into order before they drown you. What bothers you most is your inexplicable situation with these amiable strangers. That's what they are, you remind yourself. Maybe some relation exists, but there's something behind the smiling faces that doesn't put you at ease. Something that triggers evasion from those seemingly 'in the know' and confusion and concern in those who are apparently out of the loop. You should probably start out with some small talk first. You keep your eyes closed to fully appreciate the tactile sensations. This Faan fellow may not be much to look at and is probably a terrible conversationalist, but he sure knows how to give a massage.

"So why can't the little shit have bombs? They can't hurt us, can they?" Necessity responds. "Not really, mostly because with them he can be like, three times as annoying as usual." You play devil's advocate for some reason you can't put your finger. "Maybe he's just trying to entertain? Probably just part of his shtick." You open one eye to look over at her. "And what do you mean by 'not really'?" She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, he does a great job entertaining himself at our expense. Not really just means nothing permanent. Most of that kind of damage is superficial, but it's kind of unsettling to look at until it heals. Mostly he just makes messes in other people's space that I have to clean up." You toggle your open eye closed and peer at Faan for confirmation through the other. "Yup." He says, still rubbing your arm. By the time he's finished your arm hangs loosely from your shoulder. It feels comfortably numb. You try to lift it but it just wobbles back to your side, like jelly. It's a bit funny and nice, like these other 'kids'. You can't be perfectly sure, but they seem to be as oblivious about whatever's going on behind the scenes as you are. Necessity is quick to move into the space Faan vacates with a tailoring kit. Faan is already opposite of the table to you working on the rest of his meal. You're going to want to get on Mr. GoodWithHisHands' good side, especially if you ever get in a scrap. You'll probably try your best to resolve issues by smooth talking, but you never know how things will turn out--especially until you get those whatever those are under control.

You look over to Faan and try to be as charming as seems appropriate considering your supposed relation to him. "Thank you for that, it was very sweet." He nods and mutters an "mmphhhmmph." He gulps down some drink, then points to your plate. "You should probably get started on your plate if you want you build up your strength." You look down and your eyes shine with delight! It's--uhmn, that kind of food--you know, your favorite! What's it called again? Oh come on, you should know this!

> What is your favorite food?
> What is your least favorite food?

You take a bite with your good arm (it seems you're ambidextrous) and hum with satisfaction. "Mmmmmhmmmm!"

You think about these three young people you've met so far. Faan with is plain yet becoming features and those clear hickory eyes; Chip with his man-childish good looks, his antics and silvery hair (which didn't strike you as unusual until now considering your supernatural company); and then you look over at Necessity and her hard set, boyish features and freezing blue eyes focused on fixing your sleeve to better fit your new muscles. Your creeping smile shrinks only a little on that last thought; you probably should workout that other arm to balance it out. Still, you find yourself surrounded by lively, talented and good looking people. A little part of you hopes the trend keeps up. You lift the cup and take a sip of what turns out to be a warm, lightly alcoholic apple beverage. Maybe you were adopted, you muse, or forcibly kidnapped from some awful tyranny or ugly smelly giants to live in this fantasy of superpowers and pretty people. "Supposed relations." you repeat to yourself as you take another sip.


Look likes I've caved; Relationship simulator activated. Just promise me you won't go Paris Hilton or Miley Cyrus on me.

Wait... You place the cup and pat yourself down. Where's the box?! You think back to all the times you were touched, picked up, put down and walked over. Then a smug, smiling face fills your head.

Chip.

Oooh that little bastard was going to get it. Not now, but soon. "So I'm getting a little tired of waiting. Who's going to introduce the safety patrol?" you ask aloud, more than a little ticked that your daydreaming was interrupted by these turn of events.

A grim sullen speaks from directly behind you with a intonation that's not quite urban and a drawl that isn't rustic. He drags his speech with every terminating syllable. "Uhh, that would be me, and I prefer to introduce myself." You turn around in your seat to see a man dressed in black with cobalt eyes stare back. He's hunched over you like a vulture, and almost looks like a vampire with the widows peak he's rocking. "I'm Paradameus, and don't 'freak out' or anything, but I'm a wizard."

You can't quite place it, but you have the nagging feeling that you should know this person.

because there's no awkward conflict you can't fix with Nick Cage.

>>549828
I don't give a shit whether or not porn happens. I admit I haven't done anything beyond skim this quest, but I'll be damned if I let the irrelevancy of my opinions stop me from posting them.

>>549828
Normally I would write some witty retort here, but frankly I'm too impressed you managed to get the words 'baby' and 'candy' in your pony name. ARE YOU A WIZARD TOO?

>>549839
I suspect he noticed his ponychan name, chuckled, and noted it in case he ever got a chance to use taking candy from a baby. Still pretty funny.

"Well then, pleased to meet you Magus Paradameus. You wouldn't happen to know about how to track what happened to a little box that was given to me earlier that has mysteriously vanished, would you?"

Faan may be good with his hands but he's our nephew apparently, and I really wouldn't suggest hurrying to join the banjo-playing, toothless brigade.
What we should concentrate on now is finding what happened to our first 'birthday gift,' and dealing out appropriate retribution: Unless my suspicions are off we have a conspiracy to dress Chip in pigtails and a dress to launch.

Tory 2013/11/26(Tue)12:38 No. 549943 ID: 097017
File 138549833432.jpg - (186.33KB , 640x360 , Nic-Cage.jpg )

>>549856
> What is this, Deliverance? It's a good thing for you that in all the ethnicity I've got, West Carolinian Scotch-Irish isn't one of them. ?:^P Tia was referring you as her 'sister' in a sort of formal welcomi sense (goddess of hospitality and all that)--I almost had her hand you a pineapple or something.

His grim expression lifts and brightens.

"Magus? Hohohoho!"

Rad is soo Bad. Tory 2013/11/26(Tue)16:07 No. 549955 ID: 097017
File 138551085505.jpg - (119.80KB , 500x375 , bangkokdangerousb.jpg )

"Magi are those fancy-pansy stargazing fire-worshipers from the middle east. Vitki or Druid would be a more accurate term. No, I'm just your average run-of-the-mill manwitch. However, such formalities are not necessary with me. In a ritual, maybe, but right now you may Paradameus, but there are those who call me... 'RAD'." He strikes a dramatic pose and wiggles his fingers with eldritch purpose.

You wrinkle your nose with amusement. Why were the other two so put out? This guy is great! Wait, whats that on his hand? Some sort of engraved gauntlet? "Oh, so you've noticed my latest trinket, eh? I had help from this little brainiac here." He playfully shoves Nessie, his face maintains the resumed stoic deadpan. She keeps working on your sleeve as she makes a dour un-smirk, but says nothing. He proceeds; "I call it the RuneGlove. I love it cause it's so... bad." You continue to give a wry smile.

He looks into your eyes past his half closed lids. "Oh, I see. I didn't mean to interrupt anything. Please, go ahead with your planned 'family fun time'. Who knows you may be adopted after all."

It dawns on you--Now you understand why the other two were so bothered by the idea of Rad the Wizard dropping by for a visit; he's a mind reader.

You need to shut him up, or change the subject or something... But he does it for you, and the others didn't seem to notice. "But what kind of box are we talking about?"

You describe it to him, the approximate dimensions, the color, and the designs etched into it, all the while conjuring the image in your head. He puts a metallic finger on his chin. "Hmmm..." he says. He reaches under his cloak and produces...



"My box! Oh thank--"

"This is my box."

"Pardon?"

"I think you might have been given one of these. This is a pact chest. Do you know what these do?"
"No." you say, giving him a shining stare of wonder. "What?" He widens his eyes and leans in close to your ear, and you turn your head to accommodate him. "Magic!" he whispers enigmatically. He gets the stink eye from you. He looks over the table at Faan. "Hey kid. Got the records you were asking for. Took forever to copy properly." He opens the box and pulls out a scroll of parchment much larger than it should be able to contain. "Keep up the better end of the bargain, eh?" Paradameus then pulls out another and hands it to you. "I'd be thinking you'd want one to."

"I don't know," you say, "What is it?"

(open it! open it!)

>Supposed relations
Not necessarily a bad thing though. Just because there's the chance that these people aren't exactly what they claim, doesn't mean you necessarily oppose them.

>open box?
Now, you're sure that one isn't mine? You wouldn't be trying to trick me into opening it early? Or sneaking in the first gift?

Assuming he passes our scheming check, I don't see why we can't peek.

>missed getting pick-pocketed
Really gotta work on slight of hand and that kind of thing. Should be able to avoid that.

I'm thinking let's play by wispy voice's rules, and stay safe. It's not that we don't have power-we just don't know what we can even DO yet-let's not mess with that box early-there could be a reason, an important one, that we were told not to open that box right away.

If I had to guess what's up with the box, it's a method of storage and/or sending and that is why we were told not to open it until it was time for the birthday gifts.
With that hypothesized: We weren't given a user manual or even the two sentence nutshell so I could be very wrong. Even if I'm right about *a* thing it can do that may not be all.

If we're being deliberately informal here I've got some things to ask: Hey Vitki non-specific-relation-person named P, I heard a nasty rumour that seidr is supposed to be a woman thing. S'up with that?

I'm also confused by the 'family' declarations here, a pantheon is usually strictly blood relatives unless you have a corporate merger or mortals promoted from mortality involved. Even in those cases everyone's still usually an in-law at least I figured. How does it work here?

You Don't Say Tory 2013/11/27(Wed)17:31 No. 550107 ID: 097017
File 138560227576.jpg - (252.95KB , 853x480 , noshitshwarlock.jpg )

> Sorry for the lateness, been working in thanksgiving dinner for tomorrow. Fudgebunnying tamales are going to take all fudgebunnying night and empanadas are going to take all fudgeblugeoning morning.

>>549989
>>549968
>>549959

>Now, you're sure that one isn't mine? You wouldn't be trying to trick me into opening it early? Or sneaking in the first gift?

"Clever gel. I suppose I should have expected as much. I guess you'll never find out the thrilling mystery of the UNOPENED BOX." You pout a little. "Well, If you opened it and let me peek..." He wags a finger at you. "Tut tut tut, this isn't a peepshow little girl; you either stay or go all the way. I suppose I just ought to save this for another time." He puts the box back in the box and the box somewhere under his cloak.



> Hey Vitki non-specific-relation-person named P, I heard a nasty rumour that seidr is supposed to be a woman thing. S'up with that?

He gives you an extremely sardonic look. "Really? I haven't heard that one, not at all. I mean, I grew up practicing my mother's craft in a very open-minded, liberal and supportive community. It's not like I got beat up everyday for being argr until the village burned down or anything like that." Like a rubber band, the elasticity of his face springs itself to it's neutral expression with the force that he held taut. "But seriously, that tends to be the case. I mean everybody expects you to have a beard an a woolly chest by the time you're thirteen where I came from. Anything more intellectual than raping, pillaging and eating the toes of your fallen victims' children makes you a girly-man. I did not think that was 'best in life', so I decided to learn how to take those fighting words into a holmgang. I worked out, developed mad skillz and learned how to fry a dude's eggs and sausage from thirty paces. It's a little move I like to call 'breakfast in your pants'. Everyone pretty much left me alone after that."

>>549615
>>549027

You decide that you want answers, but you don't want to ruffle anyone's feathers or cause undue alarm for your younger friends. After some thought, you realize that thought itself is the best way to ask your question. You look at Paradameus and you think your question. //So what's really going on? I mean with the exception of Faan these kids barely look older than I am, and somehow I'm their younger cousin? I don't even remember yesterday and yet Faan here has been around long enough to be a proper god in his own right. How does that add up? Am I really part of this 'family', or was I a kidnapped infant who traded places with some changeling? // He just stares back. "What, is there something on my face?"

Odd. You think harder at him. "This is a staring contest? 'Cause if it is you don't have a chance; I haven't blinked for the last thirty years." You frown with frustration. You almost give up and shout your question at his face before he stops you; "Now I see what you're getting at. I suggest you pay close attention to Faan's pet project over there."

You look over at the scroll that he's now unfurled in front of him. You see a bunch of words that have lines pointing to other words... Oh, It's a family tree!

>Kidnapped changing?
I'll reiterate that's not necessarily a bad thing. It certainly changes things, of course, but doesn't mean say, we need to turn on them, or run, or owe allegiance to someone else. It's not as if anyone has a choice in their family, after all.

>Oh, It's a family tree!
Well, time to pay attention.

"Thank you kindly for your patience then Paradameus. At some point when I'm sufficiently less exasperated I'll try to return the favour. Is there anything you'd like to talk about, or would that just be a bad joke thanks to a certain talent of yours?"

Don't crowd cousin Faan too much, but if that is a genealogy chart I would be fairly interested in a copy.

Remember-a good wizard isn't just powerful, but he can be subtle when he wants to be. Pay that guy close attention in his actions, and be wary of him.
Soooo for now? Check out dat family tree!

>>549556
> Being Born In Maw of the Beast

I guess that would make her a... DRAGON-BORN.
*shades and you know the rest*

>>550107
Hmm. Maybe he cant quite read minds, but uses some other power to mimic the ability and make people think that.

Roots Oeth 2013/11/28(Thu)21:26 No. 550217 ID: 097017
File 138570280121.jpg - (547.65KB , 3703x1359 , Góðrsveit Family Tree.jpg )

>>550118
> But he's not a good wizard, he's a bad wizard.

>>550115
"Aah, don't mind me, I just like like being a dick. for a girl who wasn't even born yesterday, you did manage to learn a lot." You're not convinced. You think about asking him to elaborate and address your doubts. "Well, it's a term we use for a new whatever we are. Sometimes its a proper birth; they pop out of momma's loins in nasty, fleshy, purple cabbage leaves only to be peeled out and plucked from the vine. Some of us, however, are born a little differently. Like me and you, apparently, some of us had a sort of life before. It's either reincarnation, apotheosis or both."

>>550115
>>549856
>>/questdis/78043
> It was argued so diligently that now she's got the idea stuck in her head--which means she's going to perceive information through that paradigm filter. You'll find her focusing on events that she could rationalize supports such a theory and will likely misinterpret people's motivations and get her messages mixed as a result. still you can make decisions that move away and minimize that train of thought in hopes that it will wither and die without her continued attention.

Nessie has finished with your sleeve and has just bitten off the thread. She looks over her handiwork. "Well, its not my best, but it should serve well enough as a rough patch-job so long as nobody looks too close at it." You can hardly tell it had ever been ripped, no matter how close you look at it. You sense she would not favor what she would consider undue praise, so after moving your arm about and flexing its impressive yet shapely fibers (which gives you quite a bit of satisfaction, especially when the corner of her mouth and one of full eyebrows perk up) you simply say, "Thank you! It works wonderfully." You decide to walk over to the other side of the table and peer over Faan's shoulder at the documents he's reviewing. There are several smaller scrolls, parchments and books he's assorted in front of himself, cross-referencing them between mouthfuls--but it's the large family map that has your attention. You make a point of not crowding him to Paradameus and yourself, but you can't help but feel a little flutter of excitement and... a less pleasant sensation. It's like the soft wing beats of a butterfly stirring in your chest while a stone sits heavily just beneath, churning uncomfortably within you. You tell yourself the whole idea is something silly, only to be indulged in your spare time if ever. If Paradameus knows your thoughts, he's choosing not to show it; he's busying himself by filing the nails of his naked hand. You look back at the chart which, by the measure of the unopened roll kept at bay by a coastered cup, must be immense, but it seems the trunk of the tree and it's lower limbs is what interests you and Faan.

(It's huge for some reason, just open it in another page/tab.)

Countless, eh? I guess they don't like to do it the 'Greek' way then.
So we're an isolated, unconnected island somewhere on that chart? Scary, and interesting if so. I'm also wondering how far back the John that Avid Johnson comes from is.

Be careful what you're thinking even when it isn't being read Ms. Tory. Love at first sight generally means awkward fumbling until crash as people fail to communicate adequately and establish common understanding of what their relationship means to each other. Start with hello and asking him what he likes to do for fun at some point when he's not obsessively busy with something else, and find out if he even likes girls before you start fantasizing too deeply eh?

I'm sure that Paradameus is wondering why we seem to have as much of a concept of what to do and what is going on as we do here. Hopefully this explanation should work for him:
"I hear many whispers of past and future troublemakers. Once in a while they whisper something that isn't completely daft and I pay attention. If Chip has this same power I think it would explain much."

Well, if Tia's our sister, and her children are our cousins, that at least clues us in to which branch of that tree we're supposed to be tied into.

Somewhat a small grouping to fit the size of the hall and crowd described here, though.

>flutter, silly
Very silly. You hardly know anyone here, and we have so many things to learn, and figure out, and manipulate. Such games will have to wait till later, if we decide to act on them at all. We can ill afford to let ourself be so distracted or manipulated at this time.

>mindreading
I don't really see it as a problem. It's another interesting game to play, a thing to work with. We're already playing with word, and nuance and action, adding thought to the mix doesn't change the nature of the dance, it just makes it more complex.

>>550230
> By 'Greek way' do you mean "taps everything that moves?"

>>550236
> Looks like the questers' true opinions are to put ol' Fluttersly down. (queue montage of all the good times we've had with Fluttersly.) *tears flow from eyes obscured by a red poké-baseball cap.* This weeks episode: Goodbye, Fluttersly!

> Still, be careful what you wish for and what you say in the story thread, the wrong ears are always listening! Next time put fun comments in spoilers or green-quotes or anything that clearly marks it as a comment rather than a suggestion.

>>/questdis/78121
> A Cow says: What I'm left with is a responsibility to provide useful relationship advice to a woman that hears voices in her head. (Which is likely to be a whole lot of no, no, never, no, you're too irresponsible to be a mother, no, and no.)

> My response: Isn't that a lot like life, though? Thoughts just pop in your head and eventually you have to sit down beside yourself and help your brain with filing the inbox; telling it which ones are important, which ones are bills and which ones are ads to throw in the trash.

>>550236
> see: >>549943 and >>550217. First link explains relation with Tia, second explains that the family tree is actually much, much larger. I only showed you this bit of the tree because (1) the online service limits how many objects can be in any given chart unless you pay the subscription, (2) The resulting image would be huger-er and (3) it's the bottom of the tree and the only part with people you would recognize therefore it is the most relevant section. Also note that not all the people here are family; some are servants, messengers, angels, followers, disciples, friends and a few co-workers.

>spitting image of your father
A father who doesn't seem in any particular hurry to introduce himself, it would seem.

(Might as well push lightly on the question of parentage, since he gave us such an easy opening).

>you need to tweak your thoughts to suggest you're about to speak aloud before he appears to recognize them
Interesting. I wonder if that's actually a limitation of his abilities, or if he's choosing to only acknowledged thoughts that reach a certain level. (It could quickly get overwhelming paying attention to every chaotic noise in everyone's head- let alone respond to all of it. People might also be more comfortable with a mind reader who appears limited, or who only responds when you want him to).

>just part of being human
Interesting. I wasn't sure that we were.

>>550425
One of the simpler, effective methods of birth control. Fairly common slang. http://uk.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=greek


>"Can't say I know for fact if you are blood related to us, but I'll tell you right now you are the spitting image of you're father right down to the dimples on your cheeks."

My's father? My's?! My... is!?!
"Okay, that does it. The next person to talk about my is father without supplying necessary details will be grabbed by the neck and shaken severely. I can handle people waving my family history that I should know about like a red flag in front of me, I can handle bad grammar, but both at once is too far!"

>"That's called a conscience, hun. Whether it's a good or a bad one I can't say, but it's standard issue; just part of being human."

Oh man, is Paradameus picking fights with Quest? Gutsy.

You decide to clarify you're situation and interest in the subject in your mind, expecting him to pick up the message. As before, you need to tweak your thoughts to suggest you're about to speak aloud before he appears to recognize them.

> There are voices in my head and they tell me to do things... bad things.

"That's called a conscience, hun. Whether it's a good or a bad one I can't say, but it's standard issue; just part of being human." He pauses to scratch his soul patch with a metal fingernail. "Although, that is an attractive way to describe it--it has an appeal...Actually," his brow furrows, "That would explain a lot about people if that were the case. Hold on a sec..." He pulls out a stone tablet and etches a few notes on it with a steel fingernail.

"Human?" you query. "Didn't realize we were." Paradameus shrugs as he returns the slab back into the bag with the box. "Well, I'm not saying gods are just powerful mortals, or that mortals are infant gods or anything like that. But there's too many similarities we share that many beings like us choose to ignore or pretend aren't there. I mean, we wouldn't be able to interbreed if there weren't some key elements in both groups." You cock your head and process the information. "I see."

"Well, speaking of breeding, I'm still having trouble finding myself here. I suppose if Tia is my sister and her children are my cousins, that should at least clue me in to which branch I belong to." You pause then attach a mental note. 'Somewhat a small grouping for the crowd gathered here.' you almost say.

"Tia was being formal, the way she used 'sister' was something of an honorific rather than a literal hereditary relation. It's kind of like how Christians call each other 'brother' and 'sister'." You lift your brow in surprise. "Christians? I didn't imagine they would even be in the picture here. It's weird that I even know what you're talking about, actually. What year is it?" He shrugs. "We're not too diligent in that regard. We get up a little after the sun does, party a little into the night after sundown then hit the sack and start again. Somebody's job here is to watch the clock, but I keep forgetting who." You are baffled. "Gods believing in... other gods? Weird." Paradameus nods sagely. "Yeah. You might not believe it, but some of the people here actually subscribe to the idea there is something bigger than themselves, though I think Unity's the only Christian here. Catholic, if memory serves." You are still in disbelief. "Really? That's... I find that insurmountably odd." His head continues to bob in agreement. "Oh yeah, he was a die-hard Jacobite too--even fought on Culloden's field. Died there too, I think..."

You shake your head slowly. "That doesn't seem right. It makes me a little uncomfortable, actually." he is quick to reassure you. "Oh, nonono, he's a great guy and he's never pushy about it. The topic actually makes him a little more than 'a little uncomfortable', truth be told. He'd rather talk about what people have in common than what makes him weird."

"I'll say." you respond. 'Rad continues: "Anyway he just likes to be really Scottish more than anything. Most the time he runs around naked just cause it's faster for him to get stuff done. I mean you should see him when he's properly dressed; big, burly, furry, ruby-chested highlander with a dagger in his socks, claymore at his back and nothing to hide under his kilt."

>>550751
Comment [Whaaat. Soemthing's wrong with this picture. First off Augustave is apparently Italian (and we all know how much the ancient celts loved the Roman empire walking allover them) but I figured due to his description he was a half-breed, so I let it slide. But now they have a Catholic in their group, apparently in a position of influence if we give that banner any thought. That's like, two symbols of opression sitting across the table. Why aren't they at each-other's throats? Somethings not right... this is too... IDK. Smells really fishy to me.]

> Okay, merged missing post with the one right after and then split them into three. That makes this officially the second-to-last post of the year. Gives you some time to puzzle on the apparent weirdness and seemingly inconsistent quirks of this storyline.

> Also on my misuse of your/you're: They're speaking here, silly. It's not like you can vocalize the nuances that separate them phonetically; there are no differences in how they are pronounced! (not to my knowledge, anyway.)
--

As much as you can appreciate the imagery, you would rather turn the topic to something else. You return to the original topic of your heritage as you make steps to leave that unsettling topic behind.

"Well we're just looking at the bottom of the tree," he responds, "the section that has the most relevance to us it seems. Faan here is interested to learn about hereditary traits and diseases that are passed down; he's trying to re-discover DNA and reinvent the wheel under different circumstances. Kind of an exercise in redundancy if you ask me. With respect to the size of the group and your interest in where you fit in this tangled mess... you can see here," he points to the massive furled coil on one end of the chart, "we aren't looking at the whole thing. Most of the people here are servants, co-workers, stooges or our 'friendly' neighbors. We pretty much invited everybody that would have been offended, crashed the party and tried to curse you otherwise."

"I appreciate the forethought, but you said 'most relevant to us'. You know me and Faan's interest in this document; what's yours?" He shifts his eyes around for a bit and his metal fingernail starts raking his little tuft of fur with a passion... but he answers you with some fraction of honesty. "I go over this stuff for... sentimental reasons." You don't press him further, but you make a note there might be a trail of dirt he might have left for you to dig into. "So, here you are," you point to his name (which he evidently changed after birth.) "Where am I? Would I even be on this chart considering my... (special?) circumstances?"

"As best as I can guess you'd be right here in this lower section, but since you haven't been fully initiated yet we keep you off the books. Can't say I know for fact if you are blood related to us, but I'll tell you right now you are the spitting image of you're father right down to the dimples on your cheeks. For a while there I was tempted to believe you were just him dressed in drag. Even up close, it's still hard to put the thought completely to rest. I mean, it's not like it would have been the first time, either..."

> A father who doesn't seem in any particular hurry to introduce himself, it would seem. (Might as well push lightly on the question of parentage, since he gave us such an easy opening).

> My's father? My's?! My... is!?! "Okay, that does it. The next person to talk about my is father without supplying necessary details will be grabbed by the neck and shaken severely. I can handle people waving my family history that I should know about like a red flag in front of me, I can handle bad grammar, but both at once is too far!"

You make a face. "Again? Again with the 'Imma talk about chour daddy' right in front of me but not actually tell me about him? I swear, the next person who so much as enunciates the first syllable of 'father', 'dad' or 'papa' without actually saying anything important is going to get his neck wrung and plucked bare of both kinds of hair. I'm serious! If I'm going to have to play 'ignorant housewife' you better pray you aren't the chicken I'm making for dinner.

Both Is and Is not Amused Tory 2013/12/04(Wed)15:32 No. 550763 ID: 097017
File 138619994198.jpg - (50.61KB , 295x168 , hahahaButseriously.jpg )

> Last post of the the year.
--


It seems Paradameus is almost as easily amused as Chip is. But now it isn't about indulging other's sense of humor, now is the time for indulging your sense of revenge. You perk your head up, lift your arms in a questioning gesture and look side to side. "Where is the old goat anyway? Deadbeat sires a girl and doesn't even bother enough to show up at her birthday party?" You sink your claws into the woodwork of the table in front of you. "Point him out when you see him so I can do worse than just break his neck, pluck his feathers and roast him alive." Paradameus chuckles and shakes his head. "Nails almost as sharp as your wit, just like--" You stare at him twice as wide eyed and manically as he did in response to your quip about chicks having all the magic. You lift one and and stretch it in his direction. "Go ahead," you taunt. "Say it. See what happens!" He stops himself, chortles again and addresses you frankly. "Well, you're welcome to do that and more to him if you find him, but you'd have to dig him out from under six feet." Again, his face resumes a very serious posture. "You see, he's dead."

You pull back your razor-tipped hand and timidly lay it in your lap. "oh. I-... I didn't realize... I should have guessed that..." Your posture droops after hearing the news. That's why he hasn't shown up yet, and that's why he never will.

No wait--these are gods we're talking about. Isn't there some sort of afterlife? Paradameus shakes his head and points to the pendant hanging around his neck. It's the man in the moon, but instead of it's craters representing the fleshed eyes and mouth, they're the open chambers of eye sockets and a gaping skeletal mouth. "See, that's my side of the family's forte. We serve death, not the other way around. We get glimpses of what leads us and others to that fate, not what happens after. I'm afraid, like mortals, we are as in the dark about that as they are."

"Interesting that my paternal parentage is revealed but not my maternal somehow. You'd tend to think that the question of my mother would be more definitely known, all things being relatively normal. Is that what you were talking about with your vague murmuring about my father wearing a wig?
"Also, please, I could use a thumbnail sketch just how much unfinished business will be ambushing me in a dark alleyway, a well lit social milieu, a quiet little law-office, or wherever else from either side of my background."

"I'm also interested in whether the reference floats or sinks were I to ask Master P here to say, 'Unnh.' Really, it's like I have an incredibly expansive encyclopedia filled mostly with daft time-wasting just behind my consciousness."

>He's dead
...I should still know of him, though.

Although perhaps now isn't the best time to learn who your one time father was. That'll be on the to-do list.

The Morning After Tory 2014/01/01(Wed)21:53 No. 554693 ID: ec84e4
File 138864199259.png - (261.84KB , 1050x840 , mBXIZVF.png )

--
...Much Time Passes...
--

I'm in a bed in a place I don't recognize. Although my temperate posture doesn't show it feels like someones playing pinball full tilt in my head. I was woken up by a vibration under my shirt, which ended up being that box... It shakes every half minute or so like it's trying to remind me of something. The relative position of the sun outside tells me its mid-morning or mid-afternoon. I know there was some sort of party last night, but everything is a complete blur. Also I think I was born yesterday but nobody knows who my mother is and that doesn't make any sense.

Nice bedhead.
Seriously, the last time we heard anything about that box we weren't supposed to open it until a particular time, so perhaps we're better off pulling ourself together and investigating where we are, perhaps finding some breakfast if that seems like a fair idea.

Well, that was jarring.

Looks like you may have to work on your alcohol tolerance, among other things.

And we somehow got the box back from Chip, too. You aren't supposed to open the box till someone else had the chance of giving you the first gift. Can you remember if that happened, yet?