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File: Hermit Woods Quest.png (385 KB, 988x877)
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Life in the city was boring and loud. Your former coworkers were annoying, always trying to get to know you better, never once considering that a man's privacy was sacred, and that you didn't want anything to do with them.

Which is the reason why you've quit your dead end job and moved back to your ancestral home. John's Landing, a quaint and often forgotten New England village was where your family hailed from, and is where you spent your childhood years. It rains heavily in the summer, and gets snow as early as fall. The folks who live there hold one rule sacred. Keep to yourself, and stay out of other's business.

Arriving at the Cabin in your old rural truck, you see that it has been a while since anyone has lived there. The Cabin, your ancestral home was built in the old days when your family came from England and settled here in John's Landing. It's off the beaten path, the only road connecting it to the rest of civilization being a road of packed earth that stretches for miles before connecting to asphalt.

When moving from your house, you took what little belongings you had, including your gun, which was...

>The Mosin Nagant, an old and brutal rifle from the Great War. There are splotches of red that stain the stock, remnants of its bloody history.

>An Over-under shotgun, practically a family heirloom at this point. It is chambered in 12 gauge, and has had its stock replaced once.

>The Heirloom Musket, a literal family heirloom that still works. It is well worn and well used, the barrel having been replaced at least once, with the stock replaced twice. At this point, only the flintlock mechanism is original.

Cradling your gun under your arm, you drag a sled full of your personal belongings and supplies towards the Cabin itself. Upon entering it, you see that it has somehow managed to stay remarkably clean in spite of its absentee owners. Tossing in some decade old firewood and kindling, you light the fireplace, its warm light glowing across the wooden floor of the cabin.

What will you do?

>Unpack and make the Cabin more homely

>Clean up what little dust there is in the Cabin, for you will not tolerate uncleanliness in this home

>Lock the thick, wooden door and take a quick nap

(All options in this quest are mutually exclusive.)
>>
>>3742518
>>The Heirloom Musket, a literal family heirloom that still works. It is well worn and well used, the barrel having been replaced at least once, with the stock replaced twice. At this point, only the flintlock mechanism is original.
>Clean up what little dust there is in the Cabin, for you will not tolerate uncleanliness in this home
>>
>>3742524
Support
>>
>>3742524
>>3742587
Cleaning it up it is then
>>
>>3742661

Removing an old fashioned broom and pan from a bin in the corner of the entrance, you begin to sweep up what little dust has accumulated over the years. The fact that there are no cobwebs nor any signs of detritus is odd, but it's something that you disregard as you finish cleaning up the Cabin.

In your moment of respite, you admire your family heirloom that has been set on the ancient oaken table. This gun was first used to hunt during the days of the colonies, then by your Ancestor who was a scholar and a huntsman at heart. It was passed down and used by your great grandfather during his nightly hunts. Then to your grandfather, who disappeared into the woods at odd hours in the night, only to return with a deer carcass and clothing marked with some sort of inky substance. You remember an old adage passed down to you from your Father when you were young.

"Never leave the Cabin after the bottom of the sun has hit the horizon, not unless you know what you're doing." You assumed that the odd law was a way of keeping the young in the house, thereby preventing their deaths by predator or by wandering into the woods at night.

Breaking away from your nostalgia filled trance, you gently trace your fingers over the musket itself, its plain yet worn stock a comforting reminder of its role as the family's guardian. The brass ramrod, the only other piece of the gun that was an original had strange lines etched into the sides, vaguely resembling the handwriting of a doctor mixed with odd squiggles. The flintlock mechanism is marked in the same way, even if the stock and barrel are mostly plain. The new stock replaced the old one in 1837, when your Great Great Grandfather had to use it to beat off a maddened moose.

The barrel was replaced after the old one had worn down in 1897, for the gun had been used for a very long time before then.

What will you do?

>Unpack and make the Cabin more homely

>Lock the thick, wooden door and take a well deserved rest

>Go outside for a little walk
>>
>>3742719
>Unpack and make the Cabin more homely
>>
>>3742719
>Unpack and make the Cabin more homely
Comfy cabin times, not what I expected STANDO but I can dig it. I wonder what horrible secrets are in these woods?
>>
>>3742766
>>3742850

Unpack and make the Cabin more homely
>>
>>3742911

You untie the tight knot that held the paracord together, its thick, black lines digging into the sides of the white tarp you used to cover your belongings like a net to cheese. Soon, you reduce it back into its original 15 feet of length, wrapping it up in itself as you set it aside, removing the weather-proof tarp which sheltered the rest of your belongings. Removing the bag which contained the supplies for your musket, you set it aside as you begin to remove the large quantities of non-perishable food from your sled. Mostly hardtack, dried fruit and canned meat.

You put your supplies into the old spruce cupboards before returning to your sled. Finally, you remove the protective bag which held your clothing, mostly button up flannel, hard jeans and long socks. Removing the cans of gasoline, kerosene and other materials, you prop your sled upright by the entrance of the Cabin, you begin to make the place more homely. You ration out fuel, lighting the multiple oil filled lamps throughout your new home. With the rest of the non-perishable food, you begin to walk towards the entrance to the basement, which is curiously on the inside of the Cabin.

Making your way into it, you realize that it is completely clean. No hints of dust, nor cobwebs. Not even wood shavings, for the basement also served as the workshop for the men of your family. Your Grandfather and Father were both carpenters by trade, your Great Grandfather a stonemason, and rumor has it that your Ancestor was involved in some unsavory craft that would reduce any god-fearing man into a shivering wreck.

Speaking of which, what is your family name?

>Sharpe

>Colton

>Williams
>>
>>3742970
>>Colton
>>
>>3742970
>Williams
>>
>>3742970
>Williams
>>
>>3743115
>>3743154
Williams it is.
>>
>>3743191
Williams. That is your family name, an old one that came from England. Your family first came to New England in the year 1624 and have lived here at William’s Cabin which in reality was more like a large house since the very beginning.

Looking around the basement, you can make out the shapes of several tools. Moving your lantern forward, the orange light illuminating the tools. You could make use of them.

Which tool do you take?

>An ancient axe, the blade having been reforged once with the handle replaced in the 1800’s. There is a W with a line struck through it engraved at the base of the blade.

>An old pickaxe, used by your Great Great Grandfather in his works. The old, maple handle is stained black with age, its edge still sharp after all these years.

>A large hammer, its age indiscriminate. You could use it to build something, but you’d probably be better off hammering fence posts into the ground.
>>
>>3743198
>A large hammer, its age indiscriminate. You could use it to build something, but you’d probably be better off hammering fence posts into the ground
It may be only a hammer, but, we could use it to help forge the other two tools and more once we got the resources together
>>
>>3743198
>An ancient axe, the blade having been reforged once with the handle replaced in the 1800’s. There is a W with a line struck through it engraved at the base of the blade.
>>
>>3743198
>A large hammer, its age indiscriminate. You could use it to build something, but you’d probably be better off hammering fence posts into the ground.
>>
>>3743198
>An ancient axe, the blade having been reforged once with the handle replaced in the 1800’s. There is a W with a line struck through it engraved at the base of the blade.
>>
Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>3743423
>>3743213
Hmmm
>>3743350
>>3743722
>>
>>3743730

As you exit the basement, you pick up the large hammer and hug it closely to you. It is quite heavy, but not too heavy. You'd say that this hammer is around 7 pounds, which means that it is unsuited to a majority of tasks in smithing except for drawing the metal. It has a short handle that is long enough for you to half hand it if you want to, which makes it unwieldy in case you need to bash an animal. Otherwise, it is a relatively good hammer for survival work, with its large broad head making short work of any pegs that need to be pounded in.

Its end tapers into a smaller surface that could be used for finer work. Its weight hinders it in smithing, but if you are determined or stubborn enough, you can make a relatively decent piece using this end, no matter how unwieldy it is.

Thankfully, you still have those other two tools in the basement, which you could go and retrieve if you wanted to. Why did you pick up this large hammer? Perhaps you thought that you might need a fence, which lingered at the back of your mind, leading to you absentmindedly picking up this hammer. Turning it to the side, you can see in the bright lights of the Cabin that its side has been engraved in the same array of strange squiggles, except this time the squiggles seem to meet towards a circle, crossing it in a vague X pattern.

The sight of the mark unsettles you. Quickly turning the hammer down to the other side, you set it down onto the old spruce table, taking a seat.

What will you have for lunch?

>Thankfully, your Father's lessons in cookery stuck to you through thick and thin, serving as comfort food for those bad days at work. Unfortunately, a vast majority of the recipes use fresh ingredients and other such materials that would need you to hunt.

>You have learned the art of college cookery from your days in that damnable university. Although you couldn't barbecue for your life, you are familiar with your non perishable materials.

>You know almost nothing about cooking except for making thin soups and thick gruel to stand you by. You also know how to make a mean baked beans.
>>
>>3743733

I'll return to count the vote tomorrow at 4 PM Pacific time. \

See you then.
>>
>>3743733
>Thankfully, your Father's lessons in cookery stuck to you through thick and thin, serving as comfort food for those bad days at work. Unfortunately, a vast majority of the recipes use fresh ingredients and other such materials that would need you to hunt.
Let’s put that musket to work
>>
>>3743733
>Thankfully, your Father's lessons in cookery stuck to you through thick and thin, serving as comfort food for those bad days at work. Unfortunately, a vast majority of the recipes use fresh ingredients and other such materials that would need you to hunt.
>>
>>3743733
>Thankfully, your Father's lessons in cookery stuck to you through thick and thin, serving as comfort food for those bad days at work. Unfortunately, a vast majority of the recipes use fresh ingredients and other such materials that would need you to hunt.
>>
>>3743733
>You know almost nothing about cooking except for making thin soups and thick gruel to stand you by. You also know how to make a mean baked beans.
>>
File: vb8ccwzv.pdf (1.71 MB, PDF)
1.71 MB
1.71 MB PDF
urbano
>>
>>3743921
>>3744481
>>3744552

Hunting Cookery. Sorry for a bit of tardiness.
>>
>>3745427
You remember your Father’s lessons in cookery, from the day when you skinned your first rabbit to the time when you shot your first deer. Your Father would always teach you how to properly prepare the meat for consumption, and how to make it taste good. With that being said, a vast majority of your Father’s recipes and advice mostly apply to foraged plants, herbs, and freshly butchered meat.

With what you have, you must make do with these imperishable ingredients until you are able to hunt and grow a garden. Your lunch consists of a thick stew made with corned beef, dried vegetables and crushed hardtack to thicken it. It isn’t that good, but it’ll do for now.

What do you decide to do?

>Put your ancestral musket to use and hunt something

>Explore more of the Cabin

>Lock the door and take a short nap
>>
>>3745452
>Explore more of the Cabin
>>
Horribly sorry, forgot that today was Tuesday or Busy Day as it is in general. I was so caught up in busywork that I forgot to mention it. I'll leave the vote open until 4 PM tomorrow, hopefully I will be able to post by my own deadline.
>>
>>3745452
>Explore more of the Cabin
>>
>>3745452
>Explore more of the Cabin
Maybe there's something here.
>>
>>3745452
>Put your ancestral musket to use and hunt something
>>
>>3745452
>Explore more of the Cabin
>>
>>3746099
>>3746711
>>3747138
>>3747627
Explore more of the Cabin
>>
>>3748301

You go up the steep, creaking wooden stairs and onto the second floor. The Cabin itself is a strange, rumor shadowed piece of architecture, designed and made by your Ancestor in the early years of The United State's existence. Too tall for its time, unnaturally strong and structurally sound beyond its time. It is then no wonder that there are rumors regarding your venerable Ancestor's unsettling studies and rituals performed by the light of the moon. The second floor does not make a sound, no matter how hard you step on it, no matter what falls on it.

It does not bend as well as it should, nor do dents form as they should have. It was partially why you insisted in sleeping in the rooms on the bottom floor, for nothing scared you when you were younger than the second story. The less said about the Attic, the better.

Meeting the stairs is a long and ancient corridor, doors lining the sides of it, each leading to a room that was almost as large as the basement. The doors are of heavy rowan, with iron door handles that are grooved in a manner that sends shivers down your spine whenever your hand touches it, even through your thick winter gloves.

Which room will you explore?

>First door to the left

>Third door to the right

>Fourth door to the left

>Eight door on the left

>Second door to the right
>>
>>3748325
>Second door to the right
5 is a lucky number
>>
>>3748883
Second door to the right
>>
>>3749117

Grabbing onto the handle, you quickly twist it then push, releasing your grip as soon as the door creaked. It opened to a relatively sparse room that held a wooden bedframe, dry as cattle bones in the desert and a dresser in an odd shape, that had perhaps been made by a mad carpenter. By the sight of that twisted mess of wood and iron, you remember that this was your Older Sister's room.

You don't know what happened to her, and you think that you wouldn't like to know. Personally, you just imagined that she lived a happy life somewhere other than the forest, free to pursue her passions of bodybuilding and other behavior that wouldn't work in this house. Father had her work on the more physically strenuous activities, but she ended up building lean muscle instead of bulk. Maybe you could meet her again some time, after you've sorted out and redecorated your ancestral home. Your brief nostalgic fugue is interrupted by soft creak of wood against wood.

The drawer opened by itself, dust erupting into the air as you feel yourself die a little bit inside. There would be a tremendous amount of work for you to perform if every cabinet or dresser acted like this. The very thought of it instills dread into you.

What will you do?

>Investigate the drawer

>Accept the inevitable, draw the broom and dustpan and go on a crusade for cleanliness

>Exit and enter another room

>Go into the closet
>>
>>3749152
>Accept the inevitable, draw the broom and dustpan and go on a crusade for cleanliness
>>
>>3749391
+1
>>
>>3749152
>Accept the inevitable, draw the broom and dustpan and go on a crusade for cleanliness
>>
>>3749391
>>3749723
>>3749748
Accept the inevitable, draw the broom and dustpan. Leave no dust bunny unscathed. For Cleanliness and Good Health!
>>
>>3750719
You sigh, returning to the ground floor as you bring up the pan and broom. If you're going to clean this cabin and make it more homely, then you'll do it properly. For good health and cleanliness! Without a moment's hesitation, you fix your mistake with vigor. Soon the entirety of your older sister's room is clean, along with that of the rooms of your other siblings and parents. Their rooms each contain objects that are as equally as odd as the strange dresser in your Sister's room. For the mantlepiece in your parent's room was that of a large, hanging head of some sort of odd, insectile creature.

The chitin was colored tan like the skin of people who had been in the sun for a very long time. Its mandibles were odd and hand shaped, jutting from its armored, triangular head. It had no visible eyes nor did it have any stalks that protruded from it. For the longest time, you thought that it was an odd piece of art commissioned by an ancestor, perhaps a sculpture or a fake animal.

But now that you see it decades after your childhood, you know that it was real. It did not unsettle you, for if it was an animal, then it could be hunted and eventually killed. Still, to think that its head was already large by its own merit, being the size of your entire torso, stretched out from front to back.

There was one room that you had not entered in your crusade for cleanliness, and that room was the Attic room. It was your Ancestor's study and was forbidden to you by your Father, your Grandfather and even your Great Grandfather when he still lived. Almost no member of your family in living history has entered that room and stayed for any longer than half an hour except for your Ancestor.

What will you do, now that you've finished cleaning a majority of the Cabin?

>Enter the Attic

>Go out and put your musket to use

>Retire to your room and rest
>>
>>3750777
>Enter the Attic
>>
>>3751445
Forgot to add bring the musket
>>
>>3750777
>>Enter the Attic
>>
>>3750777
>Enter the Attic with your gun, there could be raccoons up there
>>
Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>3751445
>>3752068
Enter the Attic


>>3751469
>>3752092
Enter the attic and bring the musket
>>
File: odd symbol.png (99 KB, 1024x1024)
99 KB
99 KB PNG
>>3753561

You begin to move up towards the attic, each step on the steep staircase leading to it growing heavier. Bile begins to rise up the back of you throat as you approach the door, its ancient rowan structure visible through the peeled off and ritually torn fragments of paint. Practically slamming the door open, you enter the room with a rush. It's dark in here. Too dark to be natural. The only light that enters this room is from the window facing the forest, its old frame carved with innumerable holes positioned in such a way that they vaguely resemble faces.

There is a strangely clean desk by one side of the room, its surface covered with a wide array of different antiquated tools. Standing in the center of the room over an oddly covered carpet is a large brass orrery, its gears still ticking as its planets orbit the oddly stylized golden disc that represents the sun. The other half of the room seems to be more bookshelf then wall or room. They are packed with what appear to be centuries old manuscripts and tomes that could've been older than this very Cabin.

A chill goes down your spine as you just can't take your gaze off of the symbol in the center of the orrery. Soon you look upwards and come to realize that the ceiling is not empty. The entire underside of the roof is coated in some sort of metallic and reflective surface, disturbingly figures of indeterminate size dotting the roof. They all lack mouths, with only slits for eyes and their hands ending in two, long fleshy nubs. They seem to be cowering in fear of something to the side, and as you look, dread fills your very being.

What you saw was shaped like a man, but no man at all. For its face was opened like that of a lotus flower, an innumerable amount of mouths dotting each of the flesh-like buds emerging from it. They seem to be three dimensional, facing the sun in the middle of the orrery. Its body was no better, for while it had four limbs, its torso was oddly distended, its arms longer than its thin and long legs. It was dressed in tight fitting robes which seemed to accentuate the spinal cord it had on its chest. Its legs were straight like that of a man's, its feet ending in two rubbery lumps of pus colored flesh, its skin a darkness that no man could ever be.

What will you do?

>Explore the bookcase

>Observe the desk

>Get out of this room, your elders were right
>>
>>3753673
>Get out of this room, your elders were right
Let’s get the hammer don’t wanna be shooting inside and I don’t trust these lotus headed niggas
>>
>>3753673
>Observe the desk
It's the strangest thing in this room as it's clean.
>>
>>3753673
>"What are you faggots doing in my attic?"
Chad option
>>
Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>3754251
>>3754199
>>3754059
>>
>>3757108

Walking towards the desk, your steps as quiet as they could be. Without even realizing it, you began to approach the desk much like you would approach a deer, cautious and ready to shoot. A cold bead of sweat falls from your forehead, splattering against the aged wooden floor the closer you get to the desk. It seems that the pieces of paper and parchment adorning it are pristine, only mildly yellowed without holes nor tears. In all the innumerable years that it must had laid on the desk, you'd think that at least it'd be eaten by a moth or some sort of other insect.

There are thick tomes of esoteric knowledge surrounding the mess of parchment and paper, each bound in dark leather and smelling of rotting fat and dust. To the sides are a variety of antique tools, such as an old globe that was made of brass, an array of callipers, unused and used quills, some with their tips darkened with long dried ink. Rulers, a singular steel astrolabe, an old horary quadrant and an astronomical compendium made of bronze, completely clean. There is a bottle of wine on the far corner, unopened since the day it was made. From the markings on it, you can estimate that it was bottled in the year 1656.

Your family was never a wealthy one, yet your family had never been poor in all their years. This must be attributed to your Scholarly Ancestor, the one whose name is still forbidden and long forgotten at this point.

Noticing a large mound protruding from the stack of papers, you gingerly lift one, flies crashing about in your stomach as you see an old leather bound journal. Its pages are yellowed, yet untarnished. A buzz begins to go down your body.

What will you do?

>Take the journal

>Leave

>Stay for a bit and look elsewhere, such as the library
>>
>>3757189
>Take the journal and look elsewhere, such as the library
>>
>>3757189
>Leave
>>
>>3757189
>Take the journal and look elsewhere, such as the library
We need more info. Things seem seriously out of our depth in present.
>>
>>3757189
>Take the journal and look elsewhere, such as the library
>>
>>3759266
>>3759296
>>3759598
Take the journal and look elsewhere, such as the library
>>
>>3761645

You quickly pick up the journal, shoving it under your arm as you rapidly back away from the desk. The further you are from that accursed thing, the less uncomfortable you feel. There just wasn't something right about your Ancestor's workspace. Needing answers, you walk towards the large collection of bookcases and ancient tomes on the other end of the wall.

As you come closer to it, you realize that the figures above on the ceiling are naught but paintings, disturbingly realistic paintings but paintings nonetheless. They were not real, and would not come alive and vicious maul you or worse. At least, you hoped that it was so. The library smells of wood pulp and ocean, salty and rotting, yet with hints and motes of pleasant almond. There are many books and archaic tomes of some forgotten, esoteric knowledge strewn about the many shelves of these bookcases. Perhaps you'd best begin your search with one of those bookcases searching them all at once.

You pick out the...

>Middle bookcase

>Far left bookcase

>Far right bookcase

>Left bookcase

>Right bookcase
>>
>>3761686
>Far left bookcase, closest to the window next to the corner
>>
>>3761686
>Right bookcase
>>
>>3761686
>Right bookcase
>>
Unfortunately I am unable to update the quest today, as I’m currently at an old friend’s party. It’s late and I’m on a tablet.

Needless to say both of those combined do not lead to quality.

I will try to update more tomorrow.
>>
>>3761879
>>3763321
Right Bookcase
>>
>>3767133

The Right Bookcase, a pleasant and quaint little temple in comparison to the dark, Gothic architecture of the other bookcases. This one is simple, its sides planed evenly with sparse decoration. You see a wide variety of ancient tomes that are bound in some oddly textured leather. Moving your hand forwards, you gingerly slide one of the many blocks of literature from its place, opening it and propping it up on the side of the bookcase's edge.

Flipping to the first page, you see what could only be described as an absolutely monolithic wall of text. Judging from the age of this book, you suspect that it was all hand written, which makes it all the more mind boggling when you look at the size of it. This treatise or manuscript must have taken at least a decade off of the Author's life, who would have spent it on creating this gigantic piece of Latin word salad. You can't even read the damn thing, which does not help you with your current situation. Putting the large tome back, you remove another one from the long line of equally thick tomes.

Upon opening it, you are met by a queer depiction of some sort of entity's face, its formless yet circular features seemingly jutting from the page, its long thin fingers like cheese floss. Flipping the page, you are met by a series of words that are readable to say the least. Its literature can best be described as Shakespearean or Early Modern English. From what you can glean from it, the book itself is an esoteric grimoire authored by some anonymous person, likely a friend of your Ancestor's.

Now that you have something that could explain the oddities behind your house, what will you do?

>Read it in a more comfortable area, like your room

>Put it back and leave the Study

>Go downstairs and retire to your room for the rest of the day
>>
>>3767169
>Go downstairs and retire to your room for the rest of the day
Did we lock the door?
>>
>>3767169
>Go downstairs and retire to your room for the rest of the day
LOCK THE FUCKING DOOR
>>
>>3767169
>Go downstairs and retire to your room for the rest of the day
>>
>>3767177
>>3767538
>>3767693

Go downstairs and retire to your room for the rest of the day
>>
>>3769297

As lethargy begins to sap away what little strength you already had in your body, you decide to retire to your room for the rest of the day. Exiting the room with your Ancestor's journal, you close the attic's runed Rowan door behind you. As soon as its ominous visage is obscured by its large, almost featureless door, relief fills your flesh. Now feeling as if there was no longer a blanket of wolfram covering your being, you hurriedly walk down the stairs to the second floor, and down those stairs to the first floor. The first thought that comes to your mind when you reach the bottom floor is for you to check if you'd locked the front door.

Approaching the thick, wooden bastion of a front door, you attempt to turn the doorknob, only for it to be unyielding. Satisfied, you close the second door behind the front door, making sure to lock it as you retire to your room.

Your room was for many years your sanctuary and a place of rest for you. Without any windows leading to the harsh, New England wilderness outside, you felt safe within the Cabin's unusually thick and sturdy walls. Sitting on your unfurnished bedframe, you lay your tarp onto it as support as you open the closet, it surprisingly clean. From it you unpack your actual mattress, laying it upon the bed before you covered it in its sheets. Closing the door to your room, you lay onto your old bed, its familiar presence a welcome and comforting feeling.

Before you know it, you are fast asleep.

You awaken to the muffled birdsong and the chiming of your clock.

What will you do?

>Return to sleep

>Look at your old clock

>Read your ancestor's journal before performing your breakfast routine
>>
>>3769363
>Look at your old clock
>>
>>3769363
>Look at your old clock
>>
>>3769363
>Look at your old clock
It still works after all these years? Who replaced its parts while we were gone?



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