'>>5960835

>Cillian Guerrera

Our dad was Argentine, our mom was Louisiana trailer-trash (and you say it out of love), and in the backseat, we have Roz - a happy-go-lucky mutt that our mother named after some old sitcom character from Before - you forget which one, but it don’t matter much now';

'>>5960835

He slapped the roof as I rolled up the window, catching him in my peripheral laughing his way back to his squad mates, wad of cash in hand. A few seconds later, the gate partition whirred to life, opening up the path to the rickety bridge leading southbound. When I pressed the pedal and the car started moving, Roz leaned forward to your side. She was a fair-colored ambiguous mutt, a loyal old bitch that's been by my side going on ten years. A few neck scratches seem to satiate her, and she retreats to the backseat soon enough.

We continued forward for a few minutes before stopping the car in front of a pile-up. The remnants of a military convoy, overturned and mangled completely as if they were chewed up and spit out. I closed my eyes and drew a breath in through my nostrils and let it out slowly, an old photo clutched in hand.

"Looks like this is it," I said, not sure if I was talking to Roz, myself, or the faded picture of my half-brother Jebediah, "No turning back now."

We might've been three years and a marriage apart but Jeb was always there for me, especially since dad wasn't. That is, until he went off to the Army, and I stayed in school and eventually left town. We always tried to stay in touch, but he was a whirlwind; after his contract was up it was one noble cause after the other, from dropping out of med school to volunteering in Syria and Ukraine. When the news hit about what was happening in our old stomping grounds, I should have known it would be irresistible to him. The last time we spoke was over four months ago. I told him not to go, but he just told me something about setting things right before hanging up.

I pocketed the photo before reaching into the glove box for the gun. Exiting the vehicle, I took a closer look at the wreck. Toussaint told me about these. "Spirit Fields" he called them. He told me to watch out for a slight refraction in the air and a rhythmic hum emanating from the source. Easy to spot in the daylight if you knew what you were looking for. These men didn't. I popped open the door and Roz came out and followed me out. As I circled around to the trunk, I spotted a crude wooden signpost pointing to an adjacent path leading into the swamp. Before I left, I popped the trunk and took the backpack I stored inside, quickly fastening it over my shoulders.
+Photo of Jeb, +Backpack (0/10 Slots), +Pistol (15/15 FMJ)

I checked my analogue watch, reading the time as 10:00 AM. Toussaint told me to head towards "Ghost Town" next, a small settlement about 6 Miles South where I could meet up with other fellow trespassers. It was as good a place as any to start looking. The way I saw it, I could either head into the swamp and try to navigate my way there, or go down the road directly through the Spirit Field while it was still day out.

>Head into the Swamp
>Through the Spirit Field (Bo3 1d20, DC 12)';

'Whew, even a few hours later I've still got new quest jitters. It's not a pleasant experience, I'll say that much.

This is where I'm leaving off for today. It's been a while since I've been on /qst/. I'm going to try to update every other day at the minimum. Sorry to anyone who weren't get their votes in.';

'Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>5960982
>>Through the Spirit Field (Bo3 1d20, DC 12)';

'Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5960982
>Through the Spirit Field (Bo3 1d20, DC 12)';

'>>5960982
Head into the Swamp';

'>>5960982

>Through the Spirit Field (Bo3 1d20, DC 12)

Our guy seems resourceful.

>>5960985

As a fellow QM, you’re doing great so far!';

'Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>5961522
Thanks. It means a lot to hear that.

>>5961067
>>5961390
>>5961522
>Through the Spirit Field (Bo3 1d20, DC 12)
Looks like the vote is pretty clear, I've started writing. Also keep in mind that even if the goal is reached you should keep rolling for banked rolls.';

'>>5960982

I set out down the road squeezing through the gaps of the multiple collision. Walking over to the other side, I saw a vague path of steel bolts on the ground nearby. I picked one up and looked it over. Absentmindedly, I tossed it at the distortion, only for it to hit the air and get thrown back. I flinched as it whizzed past me, despite being far from its direct trajectory. Roz, ever the smart one, followed in my path cautiously. She whimpered uncomfortably, as if she could sense the inherent danger of the spirit field's presence, but stuck by my side for protection. We continued moving past it until the thrumming stopped.

It didn't take too long before we were clear of it.

The hard part was two hours of straight walking in the hot, humid Louisiana sun. By the time I approached the tops of rustic-looking buildings poking from the makeshift fence surrounding Ghost Town, it was already 12:00 PM. I was exhausted and caked in sweat, but put at ease by the sight of another human being even if the first thing they did was shout at me to put my gun away. An openly armed guard stood in front of the gap in the barricade, at his direction I holstered my pistol and reached for the photo in my pocket. Before I could ask anything, the guard blocked my hand and shunted it away.

"Look, I'm the new guy, I don't know nobody," he said, pointing over to a building directly behind him, "Folks come and go all the time, go ask the boss. His name's Sidney. He runs the bar and knows all the regulars. Now shoo."

The door chime jingled as I opened the door to the longhouse and found my way inside. A couple of men sat around. They all stopped and started before returning to their own business, their chatter serving as ambient background. It was like something out of an old western. I walked up to the bar and sat directly in front while Roz laid down beside the bar stool. Most of the men around seemed to be young and fit, likely profiles for risk takers and adventurous types. The bartender stuck out as a distinctly middle-aged and overweight man, but he had a shrewd, calculated sensibility about him.
"Always good to see a new face, though I've never seen anyone bring a dog into the Zone. Don't worry, it can say here…for now." he said, "Care to share your name?"
(1/2)';

'>>5961654

"Cillian Gurrera. You must be Sidney," I said, "What exactly is this place?"

"Ah, call me Sid. And Ghost Town?" he said, "It was abandoned over a hundred years ago. Some developers had it renovated for ghost tours, but the Deluge stopped that investment in its tracks. We arrived about a year ago and staked out a claim here ever since. It's essentially a pit stop for pearl divers to rest and meet up. They sell to me and I pay them directly, minus a small fee to have them smuggled out of the Zone. Course, if you were one, you'd know all this already. So, what brings you here, friend?"

"I'm looking for this man," I said, "You know him?"

I took out the photo and lay it on the counter, trying to read his response. His amiable demeanor stiffened up as his softer features hardened into a stone poker face.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Tell you what," he said, holding up a finger in the air, "I'll tell you what I know, if you help me out first."

I paused. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I wasn't sure about this guy. Especially not anymore.

"Let's hear it," I said nervously.

Sid proceeded to reach under a desk and placed a handheld device with a readout screen on the table.

EMF Reader
-4 DC when navigating spirit fields

"There's a flooded graveyard to the southeast of here. Lots of old souls there flipped over to our side. It means danger, sure, but plenty of opportunities for pearl diving. Now I don't say I never did anything for you. This here? It's an electromagnetic frequency reader. Scan for the strongest reading, and just reach out and grab it. Simple. You come back to me with the goods, and I tell you where he is and you can even even keep the doo-hickey. What do you say?"

Now I saw his angle. I was just an opportunity to him, and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it. Then again, I also needed him too. Still, Sidney was my only lead for now, and if I wanted to know what he did I had no choice but to accept the job.
(2/2)

>Accept the job (Bo3 1d20, DC 8)
>Decline, ask around the longhouse (Bo3 1d20, DC ?)';

'Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>5961655
>Accept, but Haggle for a little extra since we're a rookie
A Stalker-esque Qst, with Voodoo I'm assuming & callbacks to Hurricane Katrina. Quite an interesting idea. Your style reminds me of the QM who ran the post-apocalyptic 2023 AD Qst.';

'>>5962393
Hey, thanks for voting. And that was actually me. Just wondering, what exactly tipped you off?';

'>>5962404
The format of your posts, mainly; my pattern recognition is pretty good. I would ask for more votes on the QTG & give a brief summary of what this Qst has in store.';

'Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>5962393
+1, money over everything.

I saw your call out in QTG, I like the vibe of your quest a lot. Looking forward to seeing where you go with it.';

'Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5962393
+1';

'>>5961655

I decided it would be best not to take it personally. He wanted something from me, I wanted information from him. It was simple, nothing to get hung over about. Besides, antagonizing the boss seemed like a bad first impression. Still, if I was worth anything to Sid, I knew I'd have to seize every opportunity I had if I was going to make it far enough into the Zone.
+[Equipped] EMF Reader

"Go ahead and add half the standard rate to that, and maybe I'll play ball," I responded, with the best bravado I could muster, "Do we have a deal?"

I offered my palm for us to shake on it, but he just shook his head disapprovingly. His face turned in an outright grimace as he did before staring me right in my eyes. Despite his unassuming appearance, it involuntarily sent a chill up my spine.

"Rookies. Always so cocky," Sid muttered, "Don't be too hasty now and forget who's holding all the cards here. The terms of this job are non-negotiable. Come back with the pearl or don't come back at all."

So much for southern hospitality. If it was any consolation, I recognized most of the dialects and accents thrown around most of these people weren't local; the Zone was a destination for the ill-reputes of all kinds, apparently including your brother's, and now yours. Without saying another word, I sheepishly dragged the EMF Reader across the table and clipped it to my belt.

Standing up from the counter and hailing Roz to follow me, I left the longhouse, feeling Sid's piercing eyes tracking me on the way out. Leaving town, I followed the directions as best I could until I was halfway to my knees deep in the marsh and met by the familiar thrumming in my ear. Like a canary in a coal mine Roz picked up on it long before I did, apprehension visible in her gait as she clung closer to my leg. Despite that, I led her straight towards the source of the noise. I gave her the mercy of waiting by the side while I alone headed closer to the source of the spirit field, trying to rapidly swap between watching the frequency readout and staying aware of my surroundings.

I followed the readings until I was sure it was only a few steps away, when my foot caught on something and I almost tripped. Luckily I shifted back in time and with a crack, a rotting branch snapped in two and the dead body surfaced from the water. In his hands was an EMF Reader, and I noticed a leather case sticking out from his back pocket. Something compelled me to reach out and grab both, but reality hit when I realized I was touching a rotting corpse. I felt light-headed, and a feeling of dread crept over me. I realized that this was the first time I had seen a dead body. With each breath, I took in the putrid smell, barely stopping myself from hurling the bile rising from my throat.
Psyche: 88% (-10%)
(1/3)';

'>>5964093

It took a minute to collect myself and I assessed my options. Seeing as he wouldn't need it, I reached for his wallet and began rifling through it. The writing was too faded for me to make out anything but his face and the words "Quebec Driver's License" written on the card. He was a long way away from home. Other than that, there were a number of credit cards and a picture of a young woman, relation unknown. Reluctantly, I grabbed five hundred dollars from the thankfully wallet and wrenched the EMF Reader from the body's still stiffened hand.
+500 USD, +[1] EMF Reader

Out of respect, I slid the plastic card into the wallet and back into his pocket. As I walked over the body, the reader was clicking like nobody's business. I did as I was told, reaching out and grabbing at the air. I felt something solid in my hand, when a flash of smoke poured out from the gaps in my clenched fist. I opened my hand to see a ball the size of a marble. It was shaded a dark gray but radiated light faintly in my palm.

Roz and I walked back into the longhouse with our feet caked in mud and generally a little more worse for wear. I presented the pearl to Sid, who picked it up and examined it closely.

"See, wasn't so hard now was it? Gray Pearls shell out for over a thousand on the open market, and that's just the low end. They don't got any…holistic effects on people like the others do, but just one of these puppies can match an 800 watt car battery." he explained, "By the way, you didn't happen to find anybody else out there, did you? I sent another diver out before you and he hasn't come back."

>"No." (Lie)
>"I found him dead. This is what's left." (-500 USD, -1 EMF Reader)

I pulled out Jeb's picture again and presented it to him.

"Alright, alright. So since you made good on your promise, so I'll make good on mine."

"Where is he?" I asked firmly.

"Hold on, I never said I knew where he was, did I?"

"What? Then–"

"Hold it," he interrupted, "I think you'll find that patience is a virtue. No, I may not know where he is, but I did see where he headed. He was part of a group of three, they were loaded for bear and weren't keen on conversation. Simply put: they didn't want our business, we didn't want any of theirs either. They headed straight through town, to the derelict refinery along the river next. It's about 12 miles due south of here. What I hear, they got into a bit of a scuffle with another gang of hooligans known as the Kings."

"And what do you mean by a 'scuffle?'" I said, frustrated.

"An armed altercation? They shot guns at each other? What's worth, I hear they got away. I tend not to get involved in others' business if it don't concern me. Don't know what the hell kinda business rookie like you would want with 'em either, and I don't wanna know," he replied, "One last thing that stuck out to me as more than a little odd. One of my men said they called each other by code names."
(2/3)';

'>>5964094

He pointed to Jebediah's face in the photo.

"They called him Athos. As you can expect, the other names thrown around were Porthos and Aramis. Guess they're fans of the classics. Oh, and I almost forgot. A little lagniappe for a job well done. Don't say I don't say I never did anything for you."
+[Key Item] Sid's Map

"Thanks, I guess," I sighed, shaking my head, while searching the top of my brain for anything else to ask.

I held my head in my hands as I tried to take it all in.

This was all just so bizarre.

I drained my savings and illegally entered the Zone, dodging reality-defying distortions on the trail of my brother, and for what? To find out he was galavanting around the bayou, moonlighting as a musketeer? I knew he was something of an adrenaline junkie, but this time he'd taken it a step too far. No, that wasn't him. He must've had another reason. Or at least, the Jeb I knew would have to have a good one. And who were these other guys? Was he taken against his will? Or were they just coming along on another one of his escapades? No matter what, if I was going to find answers, I supposed I had to look to the refinery next, though he could be anywhere by now.

He…could even be dead. But I at least had to hold onto hope that he wasn't.

"Is there anything else I should check out in town?" I asked.

"Well, I got some more work if you're interested."

And just like that, Sid was back to Mr Congeniality when there was money to be made.

"People bring in plenty of guns and ammo, but what they really need to survive is food. There's plenty of nutria around in the Manchac swamp. Used to be there was a bounty on em from the state, but now that it's abandoned, they've infested every corner. Keep your gun handy. Don't worry about finding them, they'll find you. They've always been territorial, but the flood's made them extra feisty and abnormally large. Bring a couple back here, and I'll pay you 50 bucks each one you bring back."

"I'll…think about it," I said.

"Of course. Once you come into some cash, feel free to spend it here; gamble here in the longhouse or check out our armorer, Gator. She's based out of the mill just outside of town. Other than that, you can find a nice rock and rest by the campfire outside. It's always burning and you'll have plenty of company."
(3/3)

Current Time: 3 PM
>Pearl diving at the cemetery (Bo3 1d20, DC 8)
>Accept the hunting job (Combat)
>Gamble in the longhouse
>Check out the armorer
>Sleep by the campfire (Advance to Day 2)
>Leave for Refinery (12 Miles)';

'>>5964094
>"No." (Lie)
The Zone is not kind.

>Check out the armorer';

'>Yes. (Don't hand over anything, just mention the Quebec Driver's License)

>Hunt Nutria
>Sleep by the Campfire afterwards & mingle';

'Okay, I've rewritten this a lot since this is pretty embarrassing, but I know it's the right choice. I didn't want to flake without at least saying something. I've been basically forcing myself to write every post and I've come to the realization that I didn't fully comprehend the scope of the quest before going into it. Fuck, I don't know. I didn't even make it the week this time, but you know surprisingly that's not even my record.

I think at some point I'd be interested in rebooting or continuing this quest at a later date, but for now consider it abandoned.

Sorry for flaking. Again.';

'>>5964576
S'fine. QM's come and they go. Much better you actually prep for something you'll see to the end rather than abandoning it midway through. One thing that I've always found useful is planning, planning, planning. If you know both how the quest is going to end, and also how the current set of decisions will end, then things become a lot easier. Write with a strong direction and goal in mind, don't wing it.';

'>>5964613
I do plan, obsessively sometimes. Thing is I tend to fixate on just one aspect or plan too far ahead and have trouble bridging the gap. Maybe you can relate, maybe you can't. Eh I'll stop bitching.';

'>>5964655
Try outling, maybe making a CYOA style tree of choices';