QM's notes: Welcome to the Compass of Jewels quest! The prologue will proceed comparatively slowly; once we're done with the basics, I'll set up a regular time to run. Things should move at a quicker pace. In the meantime, I'll wait to get a couple of votes before moving on. A note of clarification: this is set after the events of The Wind Waker. The "Great Sea" refers to the waters in The Wind Waker. The collective waters of the world, including those beyond the Great Sea, are known as the Eight Seas.

>>2209726
>gerudo
gerudo sounds fun
>womanhood.
its a gerudo

I'm also interested in something like twili or shiekah, but i'll go gerudo

>>2209726
>sheikah
>manhood.

>>2209726
>gerudo
>manhood.

>>2209726
>gerudo
>womanhood.

>>2209726
>gerudo
>womanhood

>>2209726
>gerudo
>manhood

>>2209726
>hylian
>womanhood.

>>2209726
>hylian
>womanhood.

Voting closes in ten minutes (at :50), since I didn't give a voting window with the first post. Future voting windows will be ten minutes each unless otherwise noted or you all would prefer a different voting window.

>>2209726
>gerudo
>manhood.

>>2209726
>>hylian
>manhood.

>>2209726
>Gerudo
>Manhood

Voting closed in favour of a gerudo youth on the cusp of manhood. Writing.

>>2209765
Do not want.

>>2209765
Wouldn't that be leader of gerudo?

>>2209771
It seems we're going to be a special snowflake!

>>2209771
Too bad, the people have spoken :^)

>>2209777
>:^)
With that, I now want to say samefaggatory, but even if it was, it doesn't matter anyway.

>>2209782
>where do you think you're.jpg
who wouldn't want to be a trap

Among the cacophony stands a particular new arrival, shoulders straddled with a nearly empty satchel, fingers closed around a conductor's permit voucher. The sea breeze lifts the brim of a handwoven hat, revealing a gerudo youth on the cusp of manhood. Gazing into the gathered throng of people from the far-flung corners of the Eight Seas, he catches a faint wisp of sweet sumac and cannot help but be reminded of that which his mother taught him: to take pride in the flaming scarlet hair of the gerudo people, a mark of the Goddess's blessing, an emblem of a chosen people. And he cannot help, too, but be reminded of that which the world has taught him: that the gerudo were banished from Hyrule long ago and cast out from the Great Sea. Queen Tetra, having learned of their plight, has invited the gerudo scattered across the Eight Seas to seek refuge in New Hyrule, promised them protection, and given them their own land: the province of Parapa, a land of deserts and archipelago islands that comprise the southeastern quarter of New Hyrule. No longer do they need live as outcasts, huddled on their ships at the peripheries of nations. Offers of free work vouchers and asylum have drawn gerudo people from all over the waters. The youth holding the handwoven hat is no exception.

But, despite the pledge of sanctuary in New Hyrule, the people of the Eight Seas cast a wary and suspicious on the gerudo people. And a male gerudo, bearing the sins of the Calamitous One whose name passes no gerudo's lips, would be shunned even among most surviving bands of gerudo. His mother painted his lips, clothed him in women's robes, and swore him to secrecy, to never disrobe in front of anyone but her. And yet the tolls of time made it an increasingly difficult secret to keep and the land across the water an increasingly beautiful siren's song.

Now that he has grown into his own, he...
>continues to masquerade as a woman, but bears his gerudo features, as his mother advised him.
Let the gerudo of New Hyrule take him in, where he might belong. (+1 courage)
>dyes his hair and attempts to pass as a dark-skinned hylian or sheikah, the least suspicious choice.
Let the men of the world see him as one of their own; his gerudo ancestry will not define him. (+1 wisdom)
>proudly uncloaks himself as he is
Let the world come to him, for the gerudo men of old were treated as kings, and he shall be no exception. (+1 power)
>will be as he is (a gerudo man), but draw no undue or unnecessary attention to himself.
Let the world not take issue with his efforts to live his own life. (+1 fortitude)
>write-in (include stat change)

QM's notes: Sorry for taking longer. I had to figure out a way to work in the (admittedly unexpected) decision, but I think I've figured it out.

Your basic stats are courage, wisdom, power, and fortitude. Stats start at "-1". You will have six opportunities to raise your stats during the prologue as you determine what sort of person you are. Thereafter, stat raises will be comparatively few and far-between.

>>2209811
>Let the world not take issue with his efforts to live his own life. (+1 fortitude)

>>2209811
>>continues to masquerade as a woman, but bears his gerudo features, as his mother advised him.

>>2209811
>will be as he is (a gerudo man), but draw no undue or unnecessary attention to himself.

Addendum: voting window is fifteen minutes for this one since I took so long.
I'll not make our hero a special snowflake to the best of my abilities. This isn't meant to be a power fantasy quest or something like that. Hopefully that decision didn't just run off a bunch of folks.

>>2209827
>>2209782
The hell? My IP changed... well, whatever.

>>2209811
>will be as he is (a gerudo man), but draw no undue or unnecessary attention to himself.

>>2209811
>>will be as he is (a gerudo man), but draw no undue or unnecessary attention to himself.

>>2209811
>proudly uncloaks himself as he is

Voting closed in favour of will be as he is (a gerudo man), but draw no undue or unnecessary attention to himself. Writing.

Now that he has grown into his own, he will be as he is, but draw no undue or unnecessary attention to himself. Let the world not take issue with his efforts to live his own life. (+1 fortitude)

For the first time in three months, he lifts the hat from his head. Thick scarlet hair spills from its innards to ride the sea breeze. Yet the smell of salt has given way to that of the marketplace beyond the harbour: fresh wood and cured meat, tanned leather and new-beaten steel, a thousand herbs and spices mountained high on street merchants' carts, ink and paper, wax and perfume, more fragrances he could not name from the bombarding of scents. Few passersby give him more than a brief glance. A single human man, no matter what the colour of his hair, hardly bears notice compared to the shrilly-yapping bush-like creatures that run underfoot or the wide frames of antlered beings who can scarcely turn without knocking something over, or—most eye-catching of all—the sales and discounts hawked by peddlers and merchants. The gerudo youth, however, has a different destination: one of the immigration kiosks, as the voucher that broad him aboard the NHS Seahawk directs him.

The gerudo youth...
>asks for the quickest directions to the nearest kiosk, then follows the crowd's ebbs and flows to his destination; it may take longer, but he will surely arrive. (+1 wisdom)
>calmly walks towards the nearest kiosk, neither bending to those who would try to walk past or through him, nor pushing aside those in front of him. (+1 fortitude)
>nimbly darts through the masses in search of a kiosk, zig-zagging about while trying not to knock over a cart or get elbowed in the face. (+1 courage)
>strides through the crowd in a straight line towards the nearest kiosk, regardless of who he may have to push aside to get through. (+1 power)

Voting window is ten minutes.

>>2209884
>nimbly darts through the masses in search of a kiosk, zig-zagging about while trying not to knock over a cart or get elbowed in the face. (+1 courage)

>>2209884
>calmly walks towards the nearest kiosk, neither bending to those who would try to walk past or through him, nor pushing aside those in front of him. (+1 fortitude)

>>2209884
>asks for the quickest directions to the nearest kiosk, then follows the crowd's ebbs and flows to his destination; it may take longer, but he will surely arrive. (+1 wisdom)

>>2209884
>>asks for the quickest directions to the nearest kiosk, then follows the crowd's ebbs and flows to his destination; it may take longer, but he will surely arrive. (+1 wisdom)

>>2209884
>>nimbly darts through the masses in search of a kiosk, zig-zagging about while trying not to knock over a cart or get elbowed in the face. (+1 courage)

>>2209884
>nimbly darts through the masses in search of a kiosk, zig-zagging about while trying not to knock over a cart or get elbowed in the face. (+1 courage

Voting closed in favour of +1 courage. Writing.

The gerudo youth nimbly darts through the masses in search of a kiosk, zig-zagging about while trying not to knock over a cart or get elbowed in the face. (+1 courage)

A rolling goron who seems to come out of nowhere launches him into the air. As he sails over the crowd, his limbs flailing for something to grab onto, he briefly catches sight of a kiosk the next street over. Then his vision fills with green: he lands smack-dab on his rear end in a wooden cart of cabbages, the vegetables flying around him as the impact brings him a few centimetres from the wide-eyed features of a blue-feathered rito woman. Before he has time to say a word, the woman—crying out for her goods—whaps the gerudo youth over the head with a rolled-up newspaper. "You'll pay for that, you little—" The last word is unfamiliar to his limited knowledge of Hyrulean. Still, it does not understanding to feel her rage. The gerudo youth scrambles from the cart. A single cabbage bounces from his head into his hands. The rito merchant's beak falls open. "Not only do you soil my cabbages, but you intend to steal them as well! Thief! Thief!" Passersby have begun to turn their heads. The merchant snatches the cabbage from his fingers and lobs the rolled-up newspaper at him. As he retreats, he hears the merchant's words branding his receding back: "Good for nothing sandeaters!"

At least the immigration kiosk reveals itself with relative speed. The goron working the reception implores him to take a number and be seated. The waiting area looks packed: a family of hylians tries desperately to calm their screaming child; a rito noisily flips through some sort of travel brochure; a pair of zora speak loudly in a language the gerudo youth does not know; a goron holding a feline creature snores in the corner. By the time the gerudo youth's number is called, he has nearly fallen asleep himself. A bell tinkles as he enters the immigration agent's office. The cramped space leaves him barely enough room to pull back the chair.

"Ah, finally! Lunch break! We're having cabbages, are w—oh." The brown-haired woman sitting behind the desk—a hylian, by the look of the pointed ears just peeking out from her braids—sighs. Her stomach growls; she swiftly clears her throat. "Come in, come in. Let's get this over with. You got a voucher? Great, that makes this easier. Let's see here...starting from the top." She smooths out a form and puts pen to paper. "Where are you from?"
(1/2)

>>2209989
In his younger years, his mother taught him the language of signs, in the fluid motions of his hands and wrists, to hide his timbre of voice. Now, the gerudo youth...
>speaks calmly and dependably, his voice solid as the earth beneath his feet. (+1 fortitude)
>speaks cheerfully and warmly, stumbling over his words at times, but always trying to get his feelings across. (+1 courage)
>speaks loudly and brazenly, saying his mind and the truths he believes, no matter what others may think of him. (+1 power)
>speaks quietly and carefully, always mindful of his audience and the uses of a silver tongue. (+1 wisdom)
>write-in (add stat change)

He responds that he hails from...
>the Isle of Nabooru in the Northern Sea, a tiny and frozen atoll that some gerudo people have settled on and subsist on what meagre fish they can gather from such an inhospitable place. (+1 fortitude)
>the outer rim of the Great Sea, where a select few gerudo survive on trade with the less scrupulous of society, goods as well as gossip and information passing hands. (+1 wisdom)
>the peripheries of the Eight Seas, born aboard an aging gerudo warship, his people raiders out of necessity and desperation. (+1 power)
>the wind-swept ships in the eye of the Sea of Storms, where gerudo merchants pass through one of the most dangerous of the Eight Seas, ferrying goods no one else will, most ships sunk in the abyss below. (+1 courage)

QM's notes: Each of the two votes will be tallied separately. Just putting in two to help get us out of the prologue.

Hello bud I hope yourthe same anon who said he wanted to start a thread back in my quest

This looks like it'll be a great start

>>2209990
>speaks loudly and brazenly, saying his mind and the truths he believes, no matter what others may think of him. (+1 power)
e wind-swept ships in the eye of the Sea of Storms, where gerudo merchants pass through one of the most dangerous of the Eight Seas, ferrying goods no one else will, most ships sunk in the abyss below. (+1 courage)

>>2209990
>speaks quietly and carefully, always mindful of his audience and the uses of a silver tongue. (+1 wisdom)
>the Isle of Nabooru in the Northern Sea, a tiny and frozen atoll that some gerudo people have settled on and subsist on what meagre fish they can gather from such an inhospitable place. (+1 fortitude)

QM's notes: Voting window is 15, since we've got two decisions to make.

>>2209996
Aye, that's me. Hope to see your own quest back up soon.

>>2209893
>>2209990
>speaks quietly and carefully, always mindful of his audience and the uses of a silver tongue. (+1 wisdom)
>the wind-swept ships in the eye of the Sea of Storms, where gerudo merchants pass through one of the most dangerous of the Eight Seas, ferrying goods no one else will, most ships sunk in the abyss below. (+1 courage)

>>2209990
Speaks cheerfully and warmly.
The outer rim of the great sea.

>>2209990
>>speaks loudly and brazenly, saying his mind and the truths he believes, no matter what others may think of him. (+1 power)

>>2210002
Working out some more story and figuring out a schedule since classes start for me tommorow

regardless keep it up I'll be watching

>>2209990
>>the wind-swept ships in the eye of the Sea of Storms, where gerudo merchants pass through one of the most dangerous of the Eight Seas, ferrying goods no one else will, most ships sunk in the abyss below. (+1 courage)

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Voting closed in favour of >the wind-swept ships in the eye of the Sea of Storms, where gerudo merchants pass through one of the most dangerous of the Eight Seas, ferrying goods no one else will, most ships sunk in the abyss below. (+1 courage).
Rolling 1d2 for the tied decision (1 is +1 power, 2 is +1 wisdom).
>>2210002
Good luck!

>>2209990
>>speaks loudly and brazenly, saying his mind and the truths he believes, no matter what others may think of him. (+1 power)
>>the peripheries of the Eight Seas, born aboard an aging gerudo warship, his people raiders out of necessity and desperation. (+1 power)

Now, the gerudo youth speaks loudly and brazenly, saying his mind and the truths he believes, no matter what others may think of him. (+1 power) He responds that he hails from the wind-swept ships in the eye of the Sea of Storms, where gerudo merchants pass through one of the most dangerous of the Eight Seas, ferrying goods no one else will, most ships sunk in the abyss below. (+1 courage)

The forcefulness of his speech seems to take the immigration officer aback; the mention of his nationhood embiggens her eyes. The gerudo youth catches the immigration officer glancing furtively between his eyes and his hands, her fingers twitching while she scribes his answer. "A-ha, right, very nice. If you don't mind I'll just be going puh-retty quick through the rest of this, haha!" She swallows. When she speaks again, she goes so quickly that the gerudo youth can hardly keep up. "You've got a voucher working as a train conductor. You can't apply to the Royal Academy until you've lived here for at least two years, but there's plenty of independent companies out there. Here's a brochure of 'em. A-ha, we can check off this, and that, and don't need to fill this out..." Her gaze is riveted on him rather than on her papers. "...so, do you have anything to declare? Any weapons, artifacts from before the Great Flood, anything like that?"

No gerudo of the Sea of Storms would come without the weapon in which she has been trained all her life. Or he, in this case. The gerudo youth withdraws his...
>two-handed axe. (+1 power)
>bow and quiver. (+1 wisdom)
>two-handed spear. (+1 fortitude)
>sword and shield. (+1 courage)
>write-in

The immigration agent yelps, then claps a hand over her mouth. Her hand shakily scrawls out a slip to note down his weaponry. She shuffles through the remainder of the paperwork with a rapidness that blows the gerudo youth's curled hair from his forehead, then throws him a pass and a stamped voucher and ushers him out.

It is only when he leaves the kiosk does he realise that the immigration officer forgot to note down his name.

(1/2)

>>2210111
He glances down at the brochure. A variety of companies vye for conductors. The first that catches his eye is a golden banner at the centre of the brochure spread, featuring the bird-taloned emblem of the royal family.
NOW HIRING: SPIRIT TRACKS CONDUCTORS
Two Weeks Training Included For FREE!
Starting Pay Up To 150 RUPEES/DAY!
FOR THE GOOD OF NEW HYRULE!
APPLY (YOURSELF) AT CASTLE TOWN'S ROYAL ACADEMY!
Yet he does not have two years to wait. The remainder of the brochure yields a few options that would take someone with his lack of experience.
>Linebeck All-You-Need Emporium & Employment.
The cheapest conductor rentals on the market, as the advertisement proudly claims.
>Ogboron & Sons.
A conductor leasing agency that works with both passenger and trade carts. Featuring free training in exchange for a contract of at least six months of work.
>Balin Construction & Repairs.
A company that mostly specialises in the production of actual trains and engines, but which also furnishes its own crews for its trains, with a five-year work contract and intensive six-month training.
>Brightbow Services.
A "self-employment" start-up that aims to work as a middleman between train agencies and self-employed conductors.

QM's notes: As before, votes are tallied separately. The second vote has no associated stat changes. We're almost at the end of the prologue; don't worry.

>>2210111
>two-handed spear. (+1 fortitude)
Either this, or a clawshot. A clawshot would be aamazing
>Linebeck All-You-Need Emporium & Employment.
I see linebeck, I pick linebeck

>>2210113
>bow and quiver. (+1 wisdom)
>Linebeck All-You-Need Emporium & Employment.
Time for train-chan

>>2210111
>>two-handed spear. (+1 fortitude)
>Balin Construction & Repairs.
Linebeck is going to win obviously but lets pretend there is other choices...

>>2210003
>>2210119
A clawshot/gauntlet thing would be fun.
>Linebeck All-You-Need Emporium & Employment
>>2210131
There are other options? There are only four choices, and all say linebeck!

Linebeck wins (who expected anything else?), but I'll extend the vote to ten minutes (reply to this post specifically) to break the tie between a two-handed spear (+1 fortitude) and a metal gauntlet that can also 'shoot out' clawshot-style to hurt enemies but not to grab things (+1 wisdom).

I'll also note that our hero can get his hands on the aforementioned "artifacts" during his quest, including potentially upgrading his gauntlet to have true hookshot capabilities.

Writing in the meantime, since the choice of weapon doesn't affect the next thing.

>>2210111
>An almost comically oversized longsword (+1 power or whatever the QM deems appropriate)
>Linebeck All-You-Need Emporium & Employment.

>>2210152
>a metal gauntlet that can also 'shoot out' clawshot-style to hurt enemies but not to grab things (+1 wisdom).
Gotta go with Clawshot.

>>2210152
okay fine switching to clawshoot

>>2210152
>cant grab onto things
Aw, thought it'd be neat to have something like that, considering where hes from. Hanging on to a mast for fear dear life eith a clawshot or jumping from one ship to another with that would be cool.
Still sticking with clawshot tho

Gauntlet it is. Just letting you know that this one might take a while.

To survive in the Storm of Seas, his people have had to do what they do best: adapt. Gone are swords and spears. In their place are arms that double as lifelines. The gauntlet he wears on his left hand—one of the gifts his mother left him—is a masterpiece of gerudo ingenuity and craftsmanship: a metallic fist equally capable of crushing someone's nose and clinging to the mast of a ship in the most howling of maelstroms. If he holds his fingers perfectly straight, the 'hand' of the gauntlet may shoot forward to attack foes from afar or to grasp distant objects. (+1 wisdom)

However, something in the complex inner mechanism has broken: the 'hand' still shoots out, but the fingers do not close, pretending its use as a true hookshot. The gerudo youth does not have the smithy knowledge to fix it himself. Perhaps, with sufficient rupees or a fateful meeting, the clawshot may be repaired in time.

The gerudo youth follows the brochure's directions to Linebeck Emporium & Employment. The harbour gives way to the cobble of the Castle Town fringes. Some glance in his direction; others stare openly. Still, no one stops him. At least not yet.

When he turns onto the street of the merchants' quarter, he finds himself caught in the midst of a battlefield. Two grandiose buildings swell imposingly on either side of the street. Vendors hurl their wares' prices and their respective stores' slogans like arrows across the crowded avenue. Shoppers dizzy themselves from one store to the other, lost in the no-man's-land between Linebeck's All-You-Need Emporium & Employment on the left and Malo Mart -Castle Town Branch- on the right. A trumpeter toots loudly as his partner shouts into the gerudo youth's ear: "BUY IT NOW IF YOU ARE SMART! BUY IT NOW AT MALO MART!" When the gerudo youth swivels towards the left, the Malo Mart marketer seizes his sleeve. "THAT IS NOT GOOD. THAT IS NOT SMART. YOU SHOULD BUY AT MALO MART! Huh? Where'd he go?"

The gerudo youth's nimbleness slips him through the crowd to the front of Linebeck Emporium. Inside, shoppers fight one another for ridiculously inexpensive prices. Everything appears to be on sale; nothing sits above 80% off. Just as a wayward cucco baster-turned-makeshift-cannon nearly ruins his hair, the gerudo youth notices a glinting sign imploring would-be employees to come this way.

The sleepy-looking goron waiting within the employment office waves a hand at the gerudo youth as he enters. "Hey, shoppers aren't allowed in here. Unless you're here to be a cond—sweet Din have mercy!"

(Cont.)

File: map labelled.png (1.82 MB, 1040x780)

1.82 MB PNG

>>2210302
The goron leaps onto a teetering cabinet with surprising grace, his massive frame tucked onto the cabinet's teeny upper face. The gerudo youth flashes the stamped voucher. The goron's features scrunch as though his head were about to erupt into molten rock. "Ah—! Hm—! Well—! Hu—! I'll—I'll have to speak to the manager about this!"

A few moments later the gerudo youth is hustled—a paper bag over his head—into the manager's office. The bag is ripped away to reveal a throne-like chair on the other side of an ornate wooden desk. A music box in the corner plays a pompous melody. On the wall behind the fancy chair sprawls a massive map of New Hyrule, and below the map sits a tall, thin girl with angular cheekbones and violet bags under her eyes. She scoffs at the sight of the gerudo youth.

"Holy ship! A gerudo! And a dude! A geru-dude!" The girl slaps the desk. "No wonder everyone out there hates you. And no wonder you're desperate enough to try to get a job here! Oh man, this is rich." She leans forward. The nameplate on her desk has been turned over; a glued-on scrap of paper identifies the woman as Joelle. "I'll be level with ya, champ. I don't give a keese's behind if you're the Big Bad Boar himself. If you're willing to work 'n' willing to get paid next to nothing, I'm willing to put you on the payroll, got it?"

The gerudo youth nods. Joelle sits back, clearly self-pleased. The goron nervously taps his forefingers together. "Uhm, Miss Lineb—"

"A-ah-ah! What'd I tell you about calling me that?"

"But your fa—"

Joelle produces a rather rude gesture at the goron, who whimpers. "He's out of town. Y'know who's in charge? That's right. Me. As it should be. Anyways, bud, you need to forge you a permit? Oh, huh, you got it? Well I'll be flipped six ways to the Seas. Gimme that."

She ruffles through the gerudo youth's paperwork while he seats himself in the chair opposite her. The goron crab-walks out of the office. After a few moments Joelle smacks her palm against the table.

(2/3)

>>2210306
"Just got one question for you. What made you want to become a train conductor in the first place? Y'know this job's dangerous and not for the faint of heart. I gotta give that disclaimer to anyone who comes by, y'know. Spirit Tracks've been disappearing. There's been more monsters crawling about than I could shake a whole bundle of sticks at, and some even say they've spotted a ghost or two about. Rumours are flying that something's up with the Tower of Spirits: no Force flowing out of the Tower, no Spirit Tracks, no trade, no passage, no New Hyrule. So the last thing we need right now is an ill omen—" Joelle looks the gerudo youth up and down. "—but then again the kinda people who would rent conductors from us aren't in a position to be too picky, ya get me? But the point is that you gotta be the one to keep everyone on the train safe. Fend off whatever beasties 'n' ghosties come by for a snack. So what's up with you wanting to stick your neck out like that?"

>"I'm just as desperate myself, unwanted by my people and cast out by the rest. I can't afford to be picky, but I will surely survive." (+1 fortitude)
>"It's precisely for the danger that I've come. Others might feel themselves too weak to face the onslaught, but I wish to go toe-to-toe with the wilds myself." (+1 power)
>"I want to someday go to Parapa and live freely among my own kind, and this seems like a reasonable way to gain some money and knowledge of the land while getting close to Parapa on my journeys." (+1 wisdom)
>"I've wanted to be a train conductor since I first heard about it. Trains are just awe-inspiring in of themselves. There's no way I could turn down the opportunity when it landed right in my lap, no matter how dangerous it might be!" (+1 courage)
>write-in

>>2210310
>"I've wanted to be a train conductor since I first heard about it. Trains are just awe-inspiring in of themselves. There's no way I could turn down the opportunity when it landed right in my lap, no matter how dangerous it might be!" (+1 courage)
>"Also, my gauntlet broke. Can't keep travelling those seas with it like this."
When we learnin' how to multitrack drift?!

>>2210310
>>"I'm just as desperate myself, unwanted by my people and cast out by the rest. I can't afford to be picky, but I will surely survive." (+1 fortitude)

>>2210325
supporting

>>2210169
>>2210310
>"I've wanted to be a train conductor since I first heard about it. Trains are just awe-inspiring in of themselves. There's no way I could turn down the opportunity when it landed right in my lap, no matter how dangerous it might be!" (+1 courage)
Something like this, but perhaps not 'It's been my sole dream since forever!' Kind of thing. Maybe a but more on the side of "The train conductor life was something I saw myself as in the future, and when I had the chance, I took it."
>>2210325
That's a good excuse too. Supporting.
When multitrack drifting?!

Voting closed in favour of +1 courage, using all the write-ins. Thanks for those by the way. The more write-ins the merrier. Also, feel free to ask me about anything on the map, especially since the quality of the text is something I'll need to look into. Writing.

"Since I first heard about the trains of New Hyrule," he explains, his voice unfettered despite the relatively small office. "I thought that I could become a train conductor here. There was no way I could turn down the opportunity when it landed right in my lap, no matter how dangerous it might be!" He pauses, then gestures to his left hand. "And my gauntlet's broken. Can't sail the seas without it."

Joelle howls with laughter. "Oh man, you even talk like you're rarin' for a fight! And a regular ole dreamer! What'd you do, have a train come to you in a dream and tell you to hop aboard?"

"So, I'm looking to get it fixed."

She raises an eyebrow. "Well, big boy, hope you can figure out a way to get that thing fixed on your own pretty rupee. At least you've got a job now. One that'll be enriching for aaaaall of us." Joelle snickers to herself. "Now, there's no training to be had here. You want training, you pay someone else to do it. I can get ya aboard a train faster than you can steal my wallet. By the way, you try doing that and I'll have you gutted even faster'n that, y'know. Anyways, I can get you on a Faronese line tomorrow morning. Pay'll be fifty rupees a day for someone starting out. Whaddayasay?"

The gerudo youth nods. Joelle swips out her hand and shakes his with enough force to vibrate him in his boots.

"Great to have ya on board! By the way, you pay for your own food and board. So, why don't you look at that scrap of paper behind me—" She thumbs over her shoulder at the map. "—and pick a place in Faron. Aboda, Whittleton, Mabe, Ravio...Toronbo." The last word comes out as though Joelle had bitten into a lemon. "Can't guarantee you safe passage, cuz the only kinda people who would take someone like you are the real desperates, y'know. Probably loop through Forwin. Maybe even go out to Winrui Bay, boy howdy. So, pick your poison."
>Aboda
>Whittleton
>Mabe
>Ravio
>Toronbo
>Ask about any of the above (write-in).

Current stats:
Courage: 1
Wisdom: 1
Power: 0
Fortitude: 0

>>2210405
toronbo... from my half assed memory of sprit tracks, that's where the trading post is, right?
probably there or aboda.

>>2210422
That's where the trading post is in Spirit Tracks, yep.

>>2210356
>>2210422
Well, I don't know anything about spirit tracks (played the hell out of phantom hourglass though) so what are these places?
And whittleton, because that seems like an interesting place.

>>2210442
>>2210405
Woops, forgot to link

>>2210442
Joelle gives you a brief rundown. "The people of Aboda are cucco for cucco. It's also where Garbanzo lives. Y'know, that Garbanzo? Son of Gonzo, one of the heroes who put down the Big Bad Boar in the Great Sea? Anyways, it's one of the least hardest-hit places when it comes to the monster infestation."

"Whittleton's full of wood enthusiasts. Actually, they're having their annual Whittlin-Tons-O'-Wood Expo right now. Say, if you're interested in some lumber, we have some 100% real Whittleton-made wooden products in stock right now."

"Mabe's the home of New Hyrule's official Cucco Dashing Championships! There's other stuff too, like a concert hall, or some weird thing called the Dream Shrine, but what's cooler than Cucco Dashing?"

"Ravio's...special. See, originally some rabbit-lover got it in his head to make a park just for them. Turns out a bunch of other people love bunnies too, so much that they made a whole town out of 'em. It's wild, I know. We do happen to have lots of Ravio-imported carrots in stock, if you're interested. And they're going for the low, low, low price of just 2000 rupees a piece! C'mon, that's 90% off!"

"Toronbo...it's called the Faronese underbrush for a reason. You go there if you like gambling your life away, or if you're a lazy good-for-nothing. Recently, there's been tons of monsters around there, which is just fine by me!"

>>2210469
Also, voting closes ten minutes from this post, since I should've just put the descriptions in originally.

>>2210472
The hero? Oh neat, we should totally go There!
... going to have to keep our hood up though.

Rolled 3 (1d3)

Rolling to see where we end up going.

>>2210489
Aboda it is, writing.

"Aboda? Great. Say, while you're down there, I'll give you a hundred-rupee bonus if you can get Garbanzo's autograph for me." Joelle lifts her hand to her cheek. "What a man! Y'know, I heard that he once wrestled with a giant octorok all by himself...and won! No wonder monsters are scared of that place. Anyhoo, I'll see you bright and early first thing at Castle Town station. And by I'll see you, I mean that you'll go to this number train. Don't worry. You speak Hyrulean just fine, accent or not, so I'm sure you can find your own way 'round the station. And if you can't, well, that's on ya!" She hands the gerudo youth a set of instructions. "What do you mean, what about tonight? You're telling you've got no rupees at all? Fine, fine, sheesh, I'll pay for dinner and one night's stay at an inn, but you better get me that autograph, cuz the money for it is coming right outta that bonus I promised you. Now move it. Time's money, so don't waste both."

The gerudo youth turns to leave. As he pushes open the door, he hears Joelle snap her fingers behind him.

"Wait, geru-dude, I can't keep calling ya geru-dude, y'know. You got a name, bud?"

The name on his tongue is thick with the sounds of a home to which he can never return.
>write-in

QM's notes: Well, I can tell you all that I was dreading coming to this, since we've only seen a single male gerudo in the entire series (Ganondorf), so I couldn't base my names off of anything. Here's the female gerudo names I had prepared: Ahni, Boori, Dilani, Dyeri, Eltah, Enja, Kyrta, Nadyne, Nissa, Luavan, Pleiade, Vaike. I'll open up suggestions, although I'll only take serious attempts. If we don't have something in half an hour or so I'll try to throw up something myself, but I'm a little at a loss. This is the ending of the prologue, by the way, and we'll pick up with our first job and the first chapter tomorrow.

>>2210509
Jin? With a buzzing j/g sound? or something like gramon?

>>2210479
>>2210509
Still thank that vote was rigged but whatever...
Daimon?

>>2210509
"My name is not your concern, but you can call me Notch."

>>2210612
>Daimon

Rolled 2 (1d3)

Actually, since we've already waited enough time for this, I'll just roll. The name isn't the most important thing here and it can always change later if we feel like it.

>>2210627
Daimon it is. Writing.

>>2210627
Well, dice matches up with the chosen one

>>2210631
Yeah, I deleted the post right before the vote. It worked out anyway (also if it isn't clear, 1 = Jin, 2 = Daimon, 3 = Notch, since I just went in order of the posts).

The name on his tongue is thick with the sounds of a home to which he can never return. "Daimon."

"Demon? C'mon, that's a little on the nose even for someone like you."

Daimon narrows his eyes ever so slightly. "Daimon."

But Joelle has already moved on, writing down his misunderstood name on her payroll and clicking her tongue. "Well, best of luck with you bright 'n' early. Here's thirty rupees for food and a bed. You're due tomorrow at six o'clock sharp. Don't be late or you can consider yourself booted out into the harbour, y'know. Oh, and if you meet some old geezer named Linebeck, tell him to shove off, will you? And don't forget that autograph!"

Daimon opens the door to find a motley crew of hylians, rito, and gorons pressed up against it, decked out in the blue of Emporium employees; they fall into a huddle as he steps forward into the hall, their expressions a mixture of fear, awe, and revulsion.

Yet the gazes pass over Daimon like rain over waxed leather. No longer must he cling to the mast of a derelict ship, hoping that none around him will discover his true sex. Here, in New Hyrule, he can walk freely.

And tomorrow, his new life begins.

End of Prologue

QM's notes: Thanks for coming everyone! I had a lot of fun, and hopefully you did too. I know where I flubbed up and where things went well, so I'll do my best not to repeat those mistakes. Concerns, criticisms, comments, questions are all welcome. We'll pick up with the first chapter tomorrow afternoon; keep an eye out.

>>2210662
Well that name isn't going to cause any misunderstandings at all.
thanks for runnin'

Legend of Zelda: Atlas Shrugged?

The Legend of Zelda: Compass of Jewels returns tonight at 16:30 EST (which is four and a half hours from this post) and will run up to 22:00/22:30 EST (for five and a half to six hours). See you all then.

File: compass of jewels verse 1.1.png (904 KB, 1024x768)

904 KB PNG

QM's notes: Welcome one and all. Now that we've moved onto the bulk of the main quest, I'll take a quick moment to explain the mechanics. It's meant to be very simple and put most of the power into the players' hands. Furthermore, especially once we're accustomed to the world and Daimon begins to accumulate various items and powers, I'll tend to reward creative solutions. Don't be afraid to write-in. I'll try my best to incorporate all non-contradictory write-ins.

Conflict resolution is 2d6 + relevant stat + any modifiers. Different gifts and abilities you can pick up throughout the quest will give permanent or circumstantial modifiers. I'll include modifiers on rolls.

There are two 'health' or 'injury' tracks, referred to as stamina (physical health) and hearts (mental health/fortitude). Daimon begins at three of both. At zero stamina, Daimon is knocked unconscious. At zero hearts, Daimon is too terrified to move and loses all will to fight. At that point, if Daimon takes another hit to either, he dies. But let's try to avoid that!

A 7-9 is considered a success, a 10-11 is a great success, and a 12+ is a critical success. Courage is used to put oneself in harm's way, go quickly or acrobatically, and pull off impressive stunts. Wisdom is involved with awareness, one's knowledge, and one's instincts/insight (invoking it also allows you the players to ask the QM questions). Power is used when strength or violence are required. Fortitude is used to steel oneself against physical harm or mental duress, as well as to maintain composure. In general, pick whichever feels most appropriate, and it'll probably work.

Also, I have to note that I messed up the stats here >>2210405 but have since corrected it.

With that, let's get to it.

Our current character sheet:
Name: Daimon
Race: Gerudo
Sex: Male
Description: A gerudo youth from the wind-swept Sea of Storms. He carries himself with calm pride. His movements are nimble and quick; his manner of speaking is noble and direct. He fights with a hybrid melee/ranged weapon. He is currently employed as a rental conductor in Linebeck's All-You-Need Emporium & Employment.

Courage: 2
Wisdom: 0
Power: 0
Fortitude: 0
Rupees: -30 (debted to Joelle of Castle Town)

Inventory:
>metal gauntlet (broken clawshot)

Tasks:
>work first line on the Spirit Tracks, from Castle Town to Aboda (reward: 50 rupees/day)
>attain Garbanzo's autograph in Aboda for Joelle (reward: 100 rupees)

Verse I: A Cardinal Circlet

Twenty rupees' worth of the nearest inn gives Daimon a lasting gift of a crick in the neck and a bug bite on his right thigh; three rupees left over from last night nets him a crabapple for breakfast. The smoky, coppery smell of the train station clues him in on his destination. He clambers up and over the nearest wall—to the dismay of the Malo Mart hawkers—and hops the next few roofs until he arrives at Woken Wind Station.

Daimon passes gleaming trains of every make and model, some just arrived, others about to depart. Engineers check the undercarriages to ensure a stable flow of Light Force from the Spirit Tracks; attendants help harried travellers pack up their things and find seating; workers load and unload cargo from massive cylindrical shipping carriages. The number on Joelle's papers leads Daimon down towards the far end of Woken Wind Station. Yet the only thing he encounters is a rusted pile of train remains, more a skeleton to be repaired than anything else. The ghastly metal trappings bear the look of a skull, the front defaced with a moustache drawn in black paint. Shaking his head, Daimon turns around to search through the station again.

"Watch it!"

Daimon feels himself bouncing back as though he had stepped up to a plate of chu jelly. A mountain of an orange-tinted goron stares down at him, his brow furrowed. A blue tattoo of a crown adorns his chest and abdomen.

"You should watch where you're going, little man," the goron booms, "especially in the presence of one such as I." Daimon brushes himself off and swerves around the goron: he has a train to catch. "Watch it, little man." A powerful hand grips Daimon by the collar. The bottoms of his boots lift from the floor. "You don't walk away from someone like me is talking to you."

"Fernok, put the man down. He could be a customer." A golden-haired hylian man dressed in a sharp conductor's uniform bows low to Daimon while Fernok—the goron, Daimon presumes—sets him down. "My sincerest apologies, O worshipped customer. If you would be so kind as to wait an hour, we will be off on our journey to Aboda very soon." Daimon clears his throat and brandishes Joelle's papers. The hylian man's eyes narrow; he straightens. When he speaks again, it is as if to a particularly annoying gnat. "Ah. You must be 'Demon', then. Yes, the new arrival. Never mind, Fernok, you can beat him all you'd like."

"He is beneath me," the goron rumbles, patting the spear affixed to his hip.

"B-but—" A red-feathered rito boy, clearly far too young to be here legally, pokes his head out from behind Fernok's back. An oversized club bobs on his back. "—isn't just the floor beneath you?" He rubs his head.

A hylian woman sporting a brown bobcut and a staff crosses her arms over her chest. "Well, if this is Linebeck's finest, seems I should've written a will first."

(1/2)

>>2215708
"...I think he meant it as a figure of speech," a sheikah man around Daimon's own age answers the rito boy, his voice gentle. "Although, if it's come to—"

Racing forward, the rito boy knocks a quiver from the sheikah's shoulder and skids to a stop in front of the defamed train. "All right! It's a real train! A real one!"

"Right. Sure seems like a train and not a rickety pile of death," the hylian woman observes while the sheikah tries to keep the rito from falling into the tracks and the goron impatiently taps his foot against the floor. Daimon's gaze alights on a last companion, nearly lost amid the din: a bespectacled gerudo girl writing furiously in a notebook, standing a bit behind the rest.

"For the love of the Goddesses, can all of you shut up?" The blond hylian man claps his hands. The congregation continues their noise. "Well, whatever. Listen, boy, the name's Gibme and don't you forget it. Try anything funny and I'll get you kicked out on the Spirit Tracks by yourself. Now, all of you, shape up. Customers'll start arriving in an hour. Remember: the customer is always right! Draw straws for lots. You'll be sharing a room 'cuz we've lost a couple of carriages over the years. Here." Gibme holds a hand out, six bent straws clasped within. Everyone seems to shoot forward at once except for the sheikah boy and the gerudo girl, who take the last two. Daimon uncurls his fingers: the smallest straw rests in his palm. "There ya go. Demon boy, you've got the first pick of who you're bunking with." He rattles off their names as he sweeps a wide hand around the gathered assembly. "Go ahead. Pick someone. Hurry up about it."

>Anri, the gerudo girl with the sword
>Bavai, the rito boy with the club
>Elisa, the hylian girl with the staff
>Fernok, the goron with the spear
>Rohin, the sheikah boy with the bow

Fernok and Elisa appear equally unimpressed, the former displeased, the latter bored. Rohin stands absent-mindedly scratching his shoulder. Bavai's gaze looks riveted to the train, his eyes wide and excited, while Anri watches Daimon with a careful angling of the eyes.

Voting closes in twenty minutes.

>>2215711
>>Bavai, the rito boy with the club
Just seems like the least likely to kick our ass right now

Voting closed in favour of Bavai. Writing.

Seems like I picked an inopportune time,
or everyone lost interest. Oh well.

Daimon indicates Bavai, still presently ogling the rusty-looking train. The others look somewhat relieved. Gibme claps his hands and turns to the next-shortest-straw drawers, filling out the bunks. Anri fervently writes something in her notebook, then slaps it shut.

"Great!" Gibme waggles his finger at the Linebeck employees. "Let's get this show on the road. Pay is fifty rupees a day. Meals are ten rupees apiece and it's twenty rupees for a bunk, else you're sleeping on the floor. Got that? Now get to packing. We're transporting a bunch of random junk from here to Aboda. You break it; you buy it."

Gibme ushers them onto a brief tour of the train, the Faron Mey. There's only one sleeping carriage for employees near the back; three sitting carriages for passengers; and three shipping carriages for goods, which the conductors—including Daimon—start to pack high with suspiciously unlabelled crates and boxes, while Anri and Rohin disappear to do who-knows-what.

By the time the shipping carriages are filled, the passengers begin to arrive: mostly families in shabby clothing, young people with "trying to get out of the city" written over their faces, or miserly old men hiding their faces in newspapers. The sitting carriages look cramped and uncomfortable, but the tickets are supposedly the cheapest in the city, so Daimon doesn't find himself too surprised. Most passengers ignore him. One little girl, clutching a stuffed lizalfos doll, points to Daimon when he passes by, her high-pitched cry wordless, either fear or surprise or both. The girl's father, face buried in a book, hushes her with a hand over the mouth. Daimon walks on.

A sudden whistle lurches the train forward. Scarcely catching himself as the floor thumps underfoot, Daimon strides forward to the nearest window, cracked and yellowed as it is.

Green.

Fields of green, as far as the horizon, disappearing into the forests beyond. The blueness of the sky, deeper and richer than the grey over the oceans, the columns of whitish clouds like puffs of cotton drifting through the heavens. The steady lullaby of the train over the tracks. The tracks: Daimon looks down towards the earth. The Spirit Tracks glow gold beneath the train, flecks of light reflecting the brightness of the future.

For all of the troubles he's faced, he's on board a train at last. The world outside the window is his to explore. For now, though, he has some time to himself.

>check out the bunk
>talk to Bavai, or someone else
>see if the passengers need anything
>try to sneak in a nap until he's needed
>write-in

Voting closes in twenty.

>>2215844
>see if the passengers need anything
It's a weekday and it's the afternoon. Not much else to it.

Voting closed in favour of seeing if the passengers need anything. Writing.

He might as well make the most of himself. Daimon strolls through the sitting carriages, whistling a little tune and keeping his hands where anyone can see them. Despite his effort at seeming un-threatening, at least two passengers mistake him for a monster, the first managing to smack Daimon over the head with an umbrella, the second demanding to know from the manager why a train conductor would dress up as a scoundrel.

With an ice-pack now held against the bruise on his brow—Gibme insisted that Daimon pay for it, but fortunately a leaky pipe diverted his attention long enough for Daimon to walk off—Daimon observes the apparent chaos of the sitting carriages. Fernok the goron has gotten himself into some argument with another goron, the two of them glowering at one another in the centre of one of the carriages. In another, Elisa has ousted one of the passenger's seats, plunking herself down and putting her feet up. The affronted antlered passenger stares at her in shock. The third yields the sight of a little girl bawling; the other passengers shoot her and her father dirty looks. A touch on Daimon's shoulder brings him to look down: a timid-looking rito seated at the front attempts to ask something of him, yet whatever language she speaks, Daimon can only shrug and shake his head.

>check on the leaky pipe
>investigate the argument Fernok is having
>deal with Elisa apparently taking a passenger's seat
>see what's wrong with the little girl
>try to find someone who can speak the rito's language
>write-in

Voting closes in ten minutes.

>>2215954
>investigate the argument Fernok is having
This is first. It might go physical, so we'll have to do that first before anything.

Voting closed in favour of Fernok. Writing.

>>2215980
Going with this
You should lengthen the voting times QM. Boards slow. It's alright to wait like an hour for votes

>>2215995
All right, will do.

Daimon excuses himself from the timid rito to loop back to the first carriage. The argument between Fernok and the goron has come to some sort of standoff, the gorons sizing up one another, chests puffed out, muscles bulging. Nearby passengers have backed away from the centre of the carriage, sitting in one another's laps or standing at the edges of the carriage. As Daimon watches, the bumpiness of the train ride sends one such standing passenger reeling onto the floor. She picks herself up before he can push through the crowd to help her. One enterprising young hylian looks to be taking bets.

>try to get someone as back up before going in
>ask about what the argument is
>get between the gorons (roll courage)
>inspect what's going on from a distance (roll wisdom)
>try to physically move Fernok out of way (roll power)
>make up an excuse for Fernok to come help with (roll wisdom)
>write-in

QM's notes: We roll only after a lock-in to a particular decision. Generally speaking, you'll see much higher modifiers for clever write-in solutions or for adding something to one of the offered ones than just taking one of the ones I offered.

Voting closes in twenty minutes.

>>2216026
>get between the gorons (roll courage)
Also clue them in on how they're scaring the other passengers

>>2216026
>>get between the gorons (roll courage)

>>2216026
>get between the gorons (roll courage)

Rolled 5, 2 + 3 = 10 (2d6 + 3)

Voting closed in favour of getting between the gorons. Rolling 2d6 + 2 (courage) + 1 (suggestion modifier).

Rolled 1, 2 + 3 = 6 (2d6 + 3)

>>2216099

>>2216120
Sorry, decided to go ahead and do it myself in favour of it not taking a while for rolls. I keep forgetting that /qst/ is a slow board since I last ran things back when quests on /tg/ was a thing.

>>2216127
Ah, altighy

Daimon presses a hand against the wall and hups over the crowd gathered by the door, landing heavily on his boots on the other side. The sound—and suddenness of his flip—rivet the passengers' gazes on him. Striding forward, he squeezes in between Fernok and the other goron, then pushes outwards. The other goron stands firmly in place, while Fernok yields with surprising ease, his abdomen not rock-hard but strangely soft. "This isn't the time for fighting," Daimon announces, his powerful voice bringing silence to a panicked carriage. "Back down, Fernok."

Fernok growls in response. "Little man, get out of my way before I pound you and this sand-for-brains into a pumice pancake."

"You wanna go, jelly boy?" The other goron throws up his fists. "I'd like to see you pound anything with those flabby arms of yours. I'll tell you what: yYou should've stayed at home if you're not rock enough to handle a real goron!"

"Why, you—!" Fernok attempts to reach over Daimon's head for the other goron, his fist flying swiftly enough to scare the few passengers that remain. But Daimon holds fast; his fingers sink into Fernok's stomach, his arms trembling in exertion, and the punch doesn't connect.

The other goron smirks. "You can't even push aside a wimpy sandeater? No wonder you left. You don't deserve to bear the Kregg. Get that wiped off at the next stop, because the next time I see you, jelly boy, I'll smear you over flint and eat you for supper."

Fernok quivers. Daimon clears his throat. "You're scaring the passengers. Stand down. I don't know what's going here, but it isn't worth it."

For a moment Fernok says nothing. Then he steps backwards and folds his arms over his chest. Daimon's fingers twitch as the blood-flow returns to his hand. "...fine, sand-for-brains. If you're going to hide behind a sandeater's skirts, then I'll leave you alone."

The other goron grunts. He flops onto a pair of adjacent seats, which creak under his bulk; Daimon notes a blue crown tattooed over his abdomen. Fernok sidles away. The other passengers slowly return to their seats. A weary-faced hylian woman thanks Daimon; when he turns towards her, she lets out a faint eep! and hurries to her seat.

A sudden blow between the shoulder blades knocks Daimon to the ground. The goron taking two seats to himself chuckles as Daimon rises, wobbling, to his feet. "You're pretty brave for a sandeater, I'll tell you what. Thought your lot was cowardly."

>"We're not."
>"...thanks for the compliment."
>ask him what the argument was about
>see where Fernok went
>write-in

Voting closes in twenty minutes.

>>2216204
>>"...thanks for the compliment."

>>2216204
>"We're not."
Cowardly? Where'd he get that impression from? As far as I can tell, gerudo are warriors by culture, and although scattered, still protect their own. And as far as choices go, seems they take on the most dangerous seas. Unless he's talking about piracy. Like, attacking easy to target ships. And even then that's a risk, although I doubt we'd condone it. I can imagine a lot of prejudice against gerudo thanks to that fucking pig, in which case, piracy might just be one of the few options gerudo would have that would let them fight even a little.

>>2216204
>"We're not."

Voting closed. Writing.

"We're not." The goron arches his brow. Daimon holds his chin high. "We're not cowardly. If we've run, then it's because we've been unfairly forced."

"Yeah, tell that to the thieves and pirates in your lineage. Maybe you grew up here where everyone's nice and friendly, but I'm from across the water, lad."

"Only out of desperation, if there's nothing left." Daimon rests his hand on his chest. "I was born in the Sea of Storms. We took on the trading routes no one else could, because we were brave."

He hears the murmur of passengers towards the back of the carriage. The goron snorts. "Only now that your time has passed. I know of when your kind tried to steal everything out of spite for the wind you so dearly coveted." Daimon sets his jaw. "Tell you what. You see a little more of the world, then you come back and tell me about it. One family that ain't so bad doesn't mean the rest aren't." He leans back in the chair. "But you're not half-bad. Not only do you get between a goron and a half, but you've got the gall to be proud of being a sandeater. Interesting lad for sure, tell you what." The goron taps the side of his head. "Got my eye on you."

Daimon presses his hands into his thighs to still his tongue. "...thanks for the compliment. If you don't need anything else, I have other matters to attend to." The goron grunts. As Daimon starts to turn away from him towards the other two carriages, a cry of "Monster!" creases his brow. He inclines his head towards the pale hylian woman pointing towards him. "Ma'am, I am a conductor on board this train, regardless of what you may think of my appearance."

The woman continues to point, the passengers around her widening their own eyes. Daimon lifts his hands to show them his empty palms when it dawns on him that the woman is gesturing not to him, but behind him.

A glub of water jerks his body back. Oozing between the door marking one carriage from another is a thick, jelly-like liquid that steadily forces the two halves of the door apart. From within the crack in the door come the yells of passengers from the middle sitting carriage. The door shudders a crack further open. Daimon spots him: Fernok, trapped in the thin passageway between one carriage and another, up to his waist in the jelly-like whatever-it-is. Something scarlet flashes in the mass of congealed fluid before vanishing away.

>inform the engineers/manager (the path to the locomotive is opposite where the jelly-water-monster is coming in)
>try to pull Fernok into first carriage (roll power)
>try to identify what in the world you're dealing with (roll wisdom)
>try to wade through the whatever-it-is to get to the other side (roll fortitude)
>open the emergency window and try to climb up onto the train roof (roll courage)
>write-in
QM's notes: Remember what items you've got.

Voting closes in 20 minutes.

>>2216392
A chuchu...?
Could probably damage whatever it is a little with our clawshot, and tell for him to grab on to the chain. Would be more useful if we could just yank him out with it fully functioning, but if he can grab the chain while it's extended, we could try to pull him out before attempting to deal with it.

Extending vote to 40 minutes, have to run a quick errand but will be back soon.

>>2216392
>>try to identify what in the world you're dealing with (roll wisdom)

>>2216392
>try to identify what in the world you're dealing with (roll wisdom)
>>2216419
Could try the clawshot thing too.

>>2216419
So shoot the clawshot and tell him to grab on?
>>2216392

Rolled 5, 6, 6, 6 = 23 (4d6)

Back. Voting closed.
First 2d6 is for courage roll, +2 courage, +3 for detailed suggestions, +1 for item use.
Second 2d6 is for wisdom roll (+0+0).

>>2216547
Wew lads, writing. This one'll take a while.

>>2216547
>perfect and nigh perfect rolls, +extras
Wew

>>2216419
Technically, we can pull him out. The retraction mechanism works, just not the claw grip.

A childhood in the Sea of Storms is a story of survival. Most of his friends perished in the waves before their tenth year passed. Yet that which did not rob him of his life, garnered him knowledge for the fight ahead.

The jelly-like water, the tentacled fluid forcing the door open, the flash of scarlet—a being he has seen fell too many ships.

Morpha.

"Salt!" Daimon yells, grabbing the gauntlet from his belt and shoving it onto his left arm. When the passengers do not move, he repeats himself, louder, firmer: "Salt! Anyone who has salt, get it out, and throw it at the morpha. Right now!"

The freshwater tentacle looks smaller than the giant ones on the cusp of growing into salt-water-native morpheels. Either a young morpha, or the morpha he has encountered in the Sea of Storms grew much larger for the sheer water available. Either way does not matter. Some passengers remain too petrified to move; others, however, delve into their bags, rummage through their satchel, draw out shakers and packets of precious salt.

He sprints forward towards the back of the carriage, the fingers of his right hand digging into his left arm, steadying the gauntlet. He knows the target well: not the water, but the red orb darting at the heart of the liquid.

"Throw the salt! Hurry up! Fernok! Watch out!"

The morpha shrinks from the assault a'salt. Its tentacle slithers through the door. Dropping to his knees, Daimon slides forward just in time to wedge his boot between the halves of the doors and aim for the vibrating morpha. His fingers straighten; his breath hisses; he jams the trigger with his thumb.

The clawshot hurtles from his hand through the crack in the door towards the second sitting carriage. The razor-sharp blades slice through the jellied water. Daimon watches the metal slow through the fluid, slow, slow—but he knows the morpha morphology well enough, and his timing does not err. Metal claws sink into the morpha. The water flails and spreads.

"Fernok—grab that red thing! We've got to it out of the water! Now!"

Daimon jerks back, hard. Like a deepwater fish struggling against a hook, the morpha attempts to shudder away, but Fernok seizes it in his massive hands. Together Daimon and Fernok drag it centimetre by centimetre from its watery cage. The second it pops free, Daimon yells: "Crush it!"

(1/3)

With a bellow enough to shake the train, Fernok pounds the morpha between his palms. The jelly-like water flurries upwards to curl around the morpha again. Fernok's arms bulge with muscle—not enough, not enough, not with the water still around it as an aegis. Daimon throws himself backwards—the morpha soars through the air between the carriages—he lifts his palm up, his seaborne instincts tracking its trajectory—and his fingers curl around its firm, squishy form. The liquid across the passageway between carriages begins to lift up from the floor in the sharp of a spike. The morpha writhes in his palm. Scrambling to his hands and knees, Daimon shoves the morpha into the piles of salt powdering the floor. The watery spike shoots towards him, clumsy without the direct touch of the morpha, yet still coordinated enough to hurt. Desperately he grinds the morpha against it until the sensation against his palm gives way to a dry husk. Smashing the morpha on the ground, Daimon stamps his boot, pressing in, in, in as the tentacle comes close, close, close—

The morpha cracks open beneath his boot. His vision fills with orange. A far-off splash of water echoes.

He breathes.

Someone extends a hand towards him. His lungs burn; his fingers ache from how tightly he gripped the gauntlet. Taking the offered hand, Daimon lets himself be pulled up. He faces the goron from before, who claps him on the shoulder.

"Not bad, lad. You got a name?"

His breath whooshes from his mouth. "Daimon," he manages.

"Demon," the goron repeats as if tasting it. "Well, Demon, tell you what. You ever come to Relgna, you ask for Jibo Kregg. You've impressed me, lad." Daimon has barely the energy to nod at the goron's words. "And you. Jelly boy. You thank Demon for saving your life, here and now."

Fernok's hands fly to his hips. "Watch it! If it wasn't for me grabbing that thing—" Jibo turns his head in Fernok's direction. "...I suppose I can thank you for saving me."

Jibo grins. Another hearty slap on Daimon's shoulder sends him careening into the nearest seat. "You take it easy, lad. I'll go check if everyone's all right." Daimon catches a glimpse of Bavai, Rohin, and Elisa busily helping passengers up and trying to put order to the carriage. Gibme stands in the centre of the railcar, his eyebrows threatening to fly off of his brow, his face paler than the Faronese clouds. The water once bound to the morpha has spread over the ground. Droplets crackle in the lightning-energy of the Spirit Tracks as they drip from the gap between carriages.

"My dollie!" A girl's voice brings Daimon to look up: she fishes a thoroughly-wettened lizalfos plushie from within the pool of morpha water. "Thanks for saving Greeny, Mister Big-Nose!"

Daimon gives her a half-hearted wave. He winds back the clawshot into the gauntlet and sets it back onto his belt. Then he collapses into the nearest seat, darkness shrouding his vision.

He awakens to something scarlet just in front of his face. Daimon fumbles for the gauntlet; something warm and feathery wraps around his hand. "Mister? Mister, it's me, Bavi. You know. Like, your partner, Bavai?"

Daimon focuses his vision. The red-feathered rito boy perches on his chest, his body startlingly light for his size. As Daimon sits up, Bavai flutters off onto the ground.

"Man, that was like, so cool what you did today! That thing was all, gloop gloop, and you were all, swish swish pow pow, and then you were all zwwiiiip zwiiip and then it was all shika-shika and then you were all kabloom!" Bavai mimes stomping the floor. "The manager was gonna make you get up and work. B-but it's all right! Elisa told him to shove off your butt until he figured out where that thing came from the first place. Oh, I saved you some supper!" Bavai whirls around. Daimon takes the opportunity to glance about the room: a tiny, cramped sleeping quarters with a bunk bed, himself on the lower bunk. His gauntlet rests on the ground. A melted ice-pack slopes on the bunk beside his head. "Here you go! Just for you, mister!"

Daimon looks down: a plate of dried darners and birdseed. He coughs. "I'm not hungry."

"Really? B-but...all right! More for me!" Bavai opens wide his beak and snaps down the food in a single go. He pats his stomach. "So how'd you get so cool, mister? And how come you're here if you're so cool!? How'd you even know how to defeat that thing? Oh, oh, and before I forget, Fernie said he wanted to talk to you sometime."

Exhaustion weighs down on his eyelids, yet now may not be the time to sleep.

>"What time is it?"
>"I'm used to fighting morpheels in the ocean, where I'm from. That's all. We'd see morpha on freshwater islands, too."
>"Doesn't matter what I'm doing here. What was a morpha doing so far from water?"
>"Look, Bavai, I need to get some sleep."
>"Fernie? When can I talk to Fernok?"
>write-in

QM's notes: Feel free to pick more than one of the above. Those were some good rolls and a creative solution on your parts. Good job.

Voting closes in twenty minutes. Next post will be the last one for today.

>>2216889
>>"Doesn't matter what I'm doing here. What was a morpha doing so far from water?"
>>"I'm used to fighting morpheels in the ocean, where I'm from. That's all. We'd see morpha on freshwater islands, too."
>>"Fernie? When can I talk to Fernok?"
This order.

>>2216889
>"I'm used to fighting morpheels in the ocean, where I'm from. That's all. We'd see morpha on freshwater islands, too."
>"Doesn't matter what I'm doing here. What was a morpha doing so far from water?"
>Continue your duty.

>>2216901
Yeah, this is good.
Add on
>also, enough with the mister label. My name is daimon. Dai. Mon. Pronounced just like that.

>>2216916
We should really tell people to just call us "Dai."

Voting closed, writing, trying to incorporate everything if I can.

"Doesn't matter what I'm doing here," Daimon mutters, more to himself than to Bavai. "I used to fight morpheels in the ocean—and you'd find their young, morpha, in freshwater on islands. They're dangerous enough that we used to go on crusades to get rid of as many as of them as possible before they grew up into morpheels. But we'd find them in lakes, not puddles. What was a morpha doing so far from the water?"

"What's a morfa? Oh, oh, I know one like that, mister! What's a-matta-with-you!" Bavai giggles, then stops and cocks his head. "Wait, I think I got that joke wrong. Lemme start over. Mister, what's—"

"Enough with the 'mister' thing, all right? Call me Daimon. Dai-mon. Not 'demon'. 'Daimon'. Can you do that for me?"

"Daimon?" Bavai sticks his tongue out. "That's a beakful! Can I call you Dai?"

"Sure. Doesn't really matter to me." Daimon swipes his hand over his hair, settling the curls back in place.

"All right!"

Daimon scratches his jaw. "Something's not right here, but I don't know what. Wait, you said something about...Fernie? Fernok? Where can I talk to him?"

"B-but...it's, like, night-time right now, Mi—I mean, Dai! I don't think he'd like getting woken up for something like that. We're bound to get to Adoba by morning, so maybe you could talk then."

"You mean, Aboda?"

"Yeah! Adoba! Exactly! So, as I was saying, how'd you like, get so cool at that hookshooty thingy?"

Daimon shakes his head. As he scoots to the edge of the bed, his head woozes, but he forces himself to his feet. Promising Bavai to answer all of his questions when he returns, Daimon slips out the door to knock on the other sleeping quarters. His first guess nets him a pillow-to-the-face from Elisa and a look from Anri, who gestures to the other door. "Thanks," he tries; she says nothing in return but closes the door on him. The second door leads him to Rohin and Fernok's room, the former snoring away, the latter reading a book by candlelight when Daimon enters.

"You wanted to talk to me, Fernok?"

(1/2)

Fernok folds his reading spectacles and tucks the book away. Daimon reads the title before it disappears into Fernok's satchel: The Bridge of Eldin's Vanished!? and Other Mysteries. Fernok clears his throat, then clears it again, then polishes his head, then clears his throat a third time. "Thank you for saving me. I owe you my life. Watch it, hotshot: I'm not impressed by you or anything, merely honour-bound to say that." He sniffs. "Fine. You're...not too bad. There. Happy? I was simply...hesitant to say that in front of Jibo. Don't ask." Fernok glares at the floor. "He's taken a liking to you, hasn't he? If you wouldn't mind putting in a good word about me to him or something, I...no, no, forget about it." Fernok waves a hand.

"I mean, I—"

"I said, forget about it. Though, between you and me, I don't get why someone that rich is travelling on a hunk of junk train like this. Don't be fooled by his muscle; he's not a good guy. Or a smart one." Fernok makes as though wiping away dirt from his hands. "The less I see of him, the better. You should stay away, too."

"I see." Daimon doesn't see.

"Well, what are you still doing here?" Fernok shooes Daimon out. "Have a...a good night, or what have you."

A door slammed in his face for the second time that night, Daimon takes a moment to gather himself. His stomach rumbles. In the morning, he'll have to make up for the meals he has skipped. Until then, he has his rounds to make. His duty must go on until the arrival to Adoba. That is: Aboda. He meant Aboda.

QM's notes: Thanks a lot! I had a lot of fun and hopefully so did you. As before, feel free to provide any comments, criticisms, or concerns. Next time I'll try to include images for reference. Next time: we arrive in Aboda, and get on with the adventure!

As a gift for Daimon completing his first successful trip from Castle Town to Aboda, choose a gift below.
>wisdom +1
>courage +1
>power +1
>fortitude +1

See you next time!

Forgot to add, but I'll take votes until whenever our next session is and/or the thread dies. I hope to get another session tomorrow to cover Aboda, though there's no guarantee.

>>2217075
>>wisdom +1

>>2217075
>power +1

>>2217075
>power +1

>>2217075
>>power +1
Also are you using the BOTW ritos or the WW ritos?

>>2217114
The BotW rito in terms of physical appearance, because they're more bird-like and have more varied designs than the WW rito, although I've taken cultural cues and history from the WW rito.

>>2217123
Ah so that's why I got so confused. at any rate i'm quite enjoying the quest so far

>>2217131
Glad to hear it! Yeah, feel free to ask me anything! about the quest so far I'm mixing lore from all sorts of Zelda games and implementing some of my own, since the games don't have the most coherent worldbuilding. I'm also ignoring the established timeline and doing my own thing, mostly.

My apologies to everyone for the delay in running, been dealing with a few issues on my end. The quest should return within the week. If you all think it would be a good idea, I could change things to an on-going quest with a few updates a day instead of doing it in discrete sessions like I used to on /tg/ (I'm less familiar with /qst/ quest 'culture').

>>2226113
Few updates a day is perfectly fine on /qst/

>>2226159
That's good to hear. I'll probably switch to that next thread, since it looks like my IP changed for whatever reason.