/qu/ - Quests/Roll

I will second that choice.

>>778
>>794
You are whisked away. Suddenly, you find yourself in a hexagonal room, carved from glittering basalt. Embedded in each wall is a door, each marked with a differening symbol. Above you, an iridescent sheet of black liquid ripples and seethes, with a thin twine rope emerging from the liquid. At the center of the room, the cloudy sky and dappled geography of a garden planet slowly whirls beneath a circular hole.

You become aware of your physical state. Your female body feels comfortable, organic and lithe.

"You'll have to find your way out of here…" the entity urges you. "Up, down, any of the doors… its your choice."

Upon inspecting the doors, you discern the following information.

>Door 1: Marked with a ^, its knob is faintly warm to the touch.
>Door 2: Engraved with an M, it appears quite sturdier than the others
>Door 3: Inscribed with an S, the jeweled handle seems faintly slick and cold on your hand.
>Door 4: A 'C' is carved from the pale wood, the portal seems to vibrate and shimmer.
>Door 5: Incised with an 'O', You are instinctively repulsed by the door, but upon touching the handle find it quite normal.
>Door 6: Elegantly carved of a silver substance and inscripted with a six-pointed star, the door seems to draw you in and overwhelm your senses, you find yourself a little leary of it.

"Go on, choose."

My initial instinct is the M door, sturdier than others.

>>812
>Confirm: Is M the door you wish to traverse?

You place your hand on the knob, noticing the swirling grains of the dark wood. You perceive a faint smell of dust and hot metal, as the iron handle quickly warms beneath your hand.

"A loyal path," your guide comments.

If no one else is chiming in, then I am confirming my loyalty to the path of M.

>>869
>Confirmed

You turn the handle, and step through.

>Era: The Garland Wars
>Location: Aron's Waste
>Name: ???????? (player please provide)

"What are you starin' up at the fuckin' sun for?" Ajax inquires.

You realize that you've been gazing into the fiery rising dawn for some time, now. You glance down, your fragile frame is padded with dusty leather armor, already slick with sweat against your skin. A sabre resides in a dirty cloth scabbard against your left hip.

A sniff, and you realize you reek of stale sweat and grime. For weeks you've been wandering these wastes, far from the spring wells and communal showers of Oasis Veno. Around you, dozen-strong crew are packing their gear and finishing the last scraps of a meager breakfast.

"Rouse yeself," Ajax urges. "We have Scavs to hunt."

>>876
>Name: Oratia

"Always the fuckin' poet, eh Princess?" employing his favorite nickname for her. Ajax was nearly twenty years older than her, bearded and brawny, with thick ropes and little flecks of scars covering his bare arms. Armored in a tremendous bushy black beard and heavy antique armor, he seems to ignore both the sun and Death's numerous efforts claim his life. A drugg-bone greatbow, re-curved into a sinuous S, is stung across his back–no other amongst her people could possibly wield it with the lethal precision of their war-master's fame.

Despite his fearsome nature, he is an elder to your people, the Csalyni, native wanderers of the vast broken deserts the scholars named "Aron's Waste." The land was destroyed by the walking gods in ancient times, the makers of the Unnteruuns and the antiquated equipment the Csalyni scavenged for. Where once proud mountains had stretched into the thundering skies, the childhood stories said, only crumpled broken boulders and scraping sands remained, rarely dotted with oases and shafts to the Deep Places.

The camp was quickly packed and prepared, though luckily Ajax did not select you to haul any of the camp gear. Above you, the blushing dawn fades to searing blue, and you walk besides Ajax. The hunting party on foot, slowly moves north towards a massive disintegrated crag known as "Shattered Peak," where the Scavs breed like rats.

You feel a faint discomfort at being unable to remember something important.
>fires and shrieks in your ears, tears leaking from your clenched eyes, the smell of smoke and burning skin filling your head
The flashback dissipates as quickly as it comes.

>Location: Aron's Waste
>Name: Oratia
>Age: ~20
>Health: * / *
>Gear:
>Leather Armor (+2 defense; light)
>Sabre (lite sword; well practiced)
>Wanderer Boots / manchettes
>Silver Medallion
>Sun-protective goggles
>camp kit (fire-starting supplies, dull knife, eating utensils
>3 days food (stored + packed)
>1 day water [canteen](more with party supplies)
>Survival Gear [ask for list] (stored + packed)