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File: The Namesake.jpg (53 KB, 599x729)
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You are Jebidiah Thorton, the nineteeth of your line and the first of your name. It's sometime in the assend of the 20th century, you're in a parking lot on the edge of El Paso, Texas at 2am, and you realized you have supernatural powers about two seconds after the mexican you showed up to sell a suitcase of dope to pulled a gun.

Good God. What's left of the man?

>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be.
>He's having a seizure and foaming at the mouth.
>A bloody stain on the dirt and your shirt.
>Ain't no meat on his bones no more.
>You're more worried 'bout his soul.
>>
>>5061809
>>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be.
lol
>>
>>5061809
>Ain't no meat on his bones no more.
We WIZARD NOW
>>
>>5061809
>>You're more worried 'bout his soul

red neck lich

REDNECK LICH
WE BAYOU NECROMANCER NOW
>>
>>5061809
>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be.
BURN THE GUYS WHO SENT HIM TOO
>>
>>5061809
>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be.
Fuckin Redneck Pyromancer
>>
>>5061809
>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be
Aww hell.
>>
>>5061809
>A bloody stain on the dirt and your shirt.
EXPLOSIONS
>>
>>5061809
>You're more worried 'bout his soul.
>>
>>5061809
>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be.
Fucking vaporized the guy.
>>
>>5061809
>Ain't no meat on his bones no more.
Like what did you do just eat the guy? Well redneck so I guess.
>>
>>5061809
>>You're more worried 'bout his soul.
>>
>>5061809
>Ain't no meat on his bones no more.
>>
>You're more worried 'bout his soul
>>
>>5061809
>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be
>>
>>5061809
>>There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be.

We're a Marlboro man right?
>>
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>>5061813
>>5061823
>>5061853
>>5061867
>>5061912
>>5062078
>>5062119
There's a pile of cigarette ashes where he used to be. A slow breeze picks it up and scatters 'em over the dirt. You remember what happened in a heartbeat. Your hands got ITCHY right about when he reached for his gun and then they exploded. That's about it. You ain't sure what you're looking at but you know for a fact your gun, a brand-spankin' hundred year old .357 revolver, didn't leave your belt. That must meant you did it. Which means.

>The chains upon thine soul have been loosened. The fire in thee blazes.

Either you's some kind of magic man or there's a real convenient oil spill nearby. Damn. Think you could do it again? Fucking hell. You don't even know how you did it the first time. Fuck. You got to figure out what to do. Least it didn't make much noise. Nobody in the motel probably heard anything.

>Investimigate them ashes. His wallet might be fine.
>Call Papa and let him know the deal went south.
>Might as well check in a room in at that motel.
>Fuck it. You are gone. OUT. OF. HERE.
>>
>>5062176
>Fuck it. You are gone. OUT. OF. HERE
Someone absolutely heard that, we better skeddadle before someone decides to investigate. It ain't gonna be easy trying to explain to the Alphabeth Soup Agencies how we vaporized a man like that.
>>
>>5062176
>Investimigate the ashes

It's futile, sure, but you never know...
>>
I've got work in a few minutes but I'll be posting again later tonight.
>>
>>5062176
>Investimigate them ashes. His wallet might be fine.
>Call Papa and let him know the deal went south.
>>
>>5062176
>Investimigate them ashes. His wallet might be fine.
>Call Papa and let him know the deal went south.
>>
>>5062176
>Fuck it. You are gone. OUT. OF. HERE
Mexican dope slingers do not take kindly to this kind of thing and he might have friends in the area. Friends who themselves might have weirdo woo woo bullshit to bring to bear.
>>
>>5062176
>Investimigate them ashes. His wallet might be fine. Do it quick.
>GTFO
>Call Papa on the way back. No sense standing around the "body" ? like an idiot.
>>
>>5062176
>>Investimigate them ashes. His wallet might be fine.

Then call papa on the way out, hopefully all our brothers and cousins ain't gonna be to put out by the deal going south, speaking of why didn't we have no kin watching out back today?
>>
>>5062318
+1
>>
>>5062176
>Piss on them ashes
>>
File: Man's burnt.jpg (307 KB, 798x548)
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Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>5062188
>>5062190
>>5062205
>>5062237
>>5062299
>>5062318
>>5062324
>>5062336
>>5062576
Goddamn. That man must've weighed 150 pounds and now there's a pile of ashes that size going up to your beltline. You can't just leave the fucker there. Got to see if there's anything left of him. Most 'specially the wallet. That way it won't matter that the deal didn't go ahead. Papa gots to know what happened but he can wait a minute. You know he'd do the same thing.

>1d20+2 to Scavenge, +2 for experience
>This is an Easy Task, so it will be Bo3
>>
Rolled 1 + 2 (1d20 + 2)

>>5062643
>>
Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5062643
God fucking damn it anon
>>
Rolled 4 + 2 (1d20 + 2)

>5062643
>1d20+2
>>
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>>5062645
>>5062657
>>5062668
You jam your hands in the ashes and sift for a sit. Ain't nothing there, no way no how. Maybe the wallet's further down though. You're digging where his shoulders would've been, ain't you? Yeah, you've just gotta-

"FUCK!"

You whip back your hands and drop what you got ahold of. That's no wallet. That's hot fucking slag and burned a hole in your glove the size of your fist. Fuck. Burns like a motherfucker too. Stings. Goddamn. You hope you didn't burn the fucking nerves like happened to that Samson's boy all those years ago. You take a look. Ain't nothing but a hole in your gloves and the nastiest sunburn you've ever seen. Right on your fucking hand. FUCK. Fucker hurts. You shake your hand and wring it out. You think for a sec. Only thing that could've been melted like that was his pistol. That wasn't no rusty sheet metal neither. Solid steel. Burnt to fucking slag in two seconds flat.

Holy God. You're glad nobody saw any of that. Nobody heard them flames neither. Didn't make much noise. Just a fwooosh. Nobody could've heard from inside that motel. No, hang on, you shouted pretty damned loud just then. Oh goddamn. Oh goddamnit. Door just opened up and now there's a fat lady gawking at you. She sees the ashes all on your hands. Definitely that slag on the ground. You think of something to say and then she slams the door shut. You're not close enough to hear but you bet it's locked. Right now she's probably thumbing a phone dial with her fat fingers. Fuck. You didn't find no wallet neither. You've got to get the fuck out of here. You sprint to where your truck's at, dive in, and turn the key. You shift the stick-shift and then you're moving ASAFP. Or like the folks in the business say, as fast as fucking possible.

>1/2
>>
Rolled 14 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5062678
Your foot is slammed on the floor and you're breaking the speed limit but ain't no traffic nearby. No pigs neither. Fuck. You don't think they had a security camera angled to catch your license plate but there weren't too many other cars in that parking lot. You bet that fat lady will tell them all about the goddamn color too. Used to be black and shiny. Now it's faded out grey and muddy. Your hands aren't shaking none. You've always had good nerves. You grab the flip-phone out of your jean jacket pocket and dial in Papa's number.

>RIIIING... RIIIING.... RIIIING...
You imagine the other end of it. Old man's probably sitting in the easy chair. Blanket over him, iced tea on the side. He's getting on up there, you know. But he ain't crippled-up yet. Can still shoot, run a troutline, probably kill a fool if'n he had to. Like you just did. Won't be happy to get a call this early but you ain't sure what else to do.
>CLICK. "JEB? IS THAT YOU?"
You've told him he ain't got to shout in the phone but he don't seem to understand. That's alright. You don't hold that against him. He's been around awhile. Knows better than you on most things. He'll know what to do.
"Uh-huh. Yessir. It's Jeb here."
>"THEN WHY YOU CALLIN' ME? IS IT ABOUT THE "COOKIES" THAT SPIC WANTED TO BUY?"
"Uh... Uh-huh. Yessir. It's about the uh, the "cookies"."
>"THE HELL ABOUT THE "COOKIES"? HE NOT WANT 'EM THEN?"
"No, no he wanted 'em. Wanted 'em bad enough to draw down on me."
>"... HUH. IF YOU'S CALLING ME THAT MUST MEAN HE'S DEAD. YEAH?"
"Yessir."
>"GOOD. I DIDN'T RAISE NO COWARD. GET THE MONEY OFFA HIM?"
"Uh, no sir."
>"HOW COME!?!"
"There wasn't no wallet, sir."
>"FUCK! GODDAMN SPICS. NEVER TRUST A SPIC, YA HEAR!?!"
"No, no sir, it's not like that. He had the wallet. It just..."
>"IT'S JUST WHAT? DIDN'T WANT TO GET NO FINGERPRINTS ON THE SCENE? YEAH, YEAH I HEAR YOU."
"No, no sir it's not like that. It's not like anything I've ever done 'fore. Listen Papa, I'm serious. It's not, ain't even like that time I-"

>"Wrestled the bull in that rodeo pit when the lasso broke and it got pissed."
>"Drank two jars of 50-proof that we wasn't even sure was any good yet."
>"Went and shot skeet blindfold with that old .22 pistol, four times in a row."
>"Smooth-talked that blond-haired californy lady that was there for "business."
>"Dug my hands in them coals without 'em gettin' burnt, just to prove I could."

>2/2
>>
>>5062680
>"Smooth-talked that blond-haired californy lady that was there for "business."
>>
>>5062680
>"Dug my hands in them coals without 'em gettin' burnt, just to prove I could."
>>
>>5062680
>>"Wrestled the bull in that rodeo pit when the lasso broke and it got pissed."
>>"Drank two jars of 50-proof that we wasn't even sure was any good yet."
I am tempted about one of these, but I cant quite decide...
>>
>>5062680
>"Drank two jars of 50-proof that we wasn't even sure was any good yet
YEEEEEEHAAAAW
>>
>>5062318
>>5062680
>"Dug my hands in them coals without 'em gettin' burnt, just to prove I could."
Makes the most sense. The fire's always been there. Yes, we got burnt picking up the gun. We got a "sunburn" from closing our hand on a piece of still melting metal. That just ain't right. There's ought to have been signs like that before, I say.
>>
>>5062797
Good point, changing my vote (>>5062712) to
>Dug my hands in them coals without 'em gettin' burnt, just to prove I could."
>>
>>5062680
>"Drank two jars of 50-proof that we wasn't even sure was any good yet."
Lets be proper redneck hillbilly moonshiner.
>>
>>5062680
>"Smooth-talked that blond-haired californy lady that was there for "business."
>>
>>5062680
>"Dug my hands in them coals without 'em gettin' burnt, just to prove I could."
>>
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>>5062724
>>5062797
>>5062805
>>5062849
"-dug my hand in them coals without 'em gettin' burnt, just to prove I could."
>"...YOUR MOMMA, BLESS HER NAME, WOULD HAVE HAD A FIT IF SHE HEARD YOU SAYIN' THAT!"
"Yessir. I understand, sir."
>"AND YOU'RE TELLIN' ME IT'S NOT EVEN LIKE THAT? OH! OH!!! GOOD GOD BOAH, YOU AIN'T BEEN EATIN' THEM "COOKIES" HAVE YOU!?!"
"No sir, I hasn't been, I swears it! This ain't like that. It's somethin' like I don't even know if it's better or worse."
>"YOU HASN'T? YOU SWEARS IT?! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW? AIN'T YOU SEEN IT WITH YOUR OWN EYES? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!?"
"I ain't sure I-"
>"TEMME BOAH! I SAID TEMME!"
"I ain't sure if you'd believe me Papa. I think I might gots to show you so you can see for yourself."
>"DAMNIT BOAH! THEM "COOKIES" IS GOOD MONEY! NOW I SAID-"
"Papa, I don't like to do this but you just gonna have to take my word for it. It's gotta be in person. I be home in a little while. I promise."
>"... ALRIGHT. BOAH, I AIN'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN BY ALL OF THIS BUT IF YOU REALLY MEANS IT... I'LL TAKE YOU AT YOUR WORD FOR IT."
"Thank you Papa. There's a lot of happened. Lot of things I think might change. I don't know. I just don't know."
>"WELL THEN WE'LL FIGURE IT OUT WHEN YOU GET HERE. YOU HEAR?"
"I hear you."
>"ALRIGHT. I BE SEEIN' YOU HERE IN A FEW HOURS THEN. LOVE YOU JEB."
"I love you too Papa."
>"AND BOAH?"
"Yessir?"
>"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, KEEP THEM DAMN "COOKIES" IN THE FLOORBOARD."
"Uh..." You realize you dropped the suitcase in the passenger seat and knock it over onto the floor. That way if someone wants to see it, they'd have to be leaning in and looking down from the window. "Yessir!"
>CLICK

You keep driving and look out the window. Not much looks like it's changed but you're feeling different from how you did this morning. It might just be your imagination but you know what happened back there wasn't a damned daydream. You just ain't sure how you're gonna break it to Papa and the folks. You take a deep breath. You've still got a ways to go before you get home.

>A trailer park in the middle of the Oklahoma plains.
>A corrugated metal shack in the Louisiana bayou.
>A dilapidated house in the New Mexico desert.

Biggest decision so far. Every one of these has a different backstory.
>>
>>5062897
>>A corrugated metal shack in the Louisiana bayou

Le bon ton roulet!
>>
>>5062897
>A corrugated metal shack in the Louisiana bayou.
>>
>>5062897
>A corrugated metal shack in the Louisiana bayou.
>>
>>5062897
>A trailer park in the middle of the Oklahoma plains.
>>
>>5062897
>A corrugated metal shack in the Louisiana bayou.
>>
>>5062897
>A dilapidated house in the New Mexico desert.
>>
>>5062797
>>5062897
>A corrugated metal shack in the Louisiana bayou.
>>
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>>5062900
>>5062905
>>5062909
>>5062949
>>5063002
You drive north for long enough 'till you're sure you ain't being followed then you cut to the right on a backroad and you're headed east. Louisiana. Home of swamps muddy enough to swallow a man, gators that'll do the same, and likely God don't even know how many mosquitos. Still home. Good place for business too. You never was too much into the schooling. Just fools try to tell you what to do, tell you what you already know or don't need to know. It's why you damn near flunked outta high school and never had a hope to go to college and no kinda want to anyhow. No matter how much your Mama wanted you to. She said you was smart. One of the smartest of her boys. If only you could get your head on track.

You loved her to tears but that ain't shit. Ain't shit but bullshit. You know you're a simple man and you're content with that. If God wanted you to sit in a damned office building and file papers he would've born you to somewhere else. You'd rather spend your time in the swamps, boots just out of the water, whilin' away the hours and the months and the years with a fishing rod. Then the sickness got a hold of Mama. No cancer, nothing like that. Might not have been so bad. Least then you could've talked with her, she would've knew what was going on. Poor girl got dementia. Didn't go mad, worse than mad, didn't know a thing happened the last fifteen years. See Papa and think he was Grandpa because of his beard, see you and think you was some stranger come to visit. It was too much to take. You was always getting into shit when you was a boy, just like your Papa and just like your brothers.

>1/2
>>
>>5063073

Mama always wanted you to stay away from that life but it was a natural fit and seeing as she didn't remember who you was, that didn't matter too much. All 'sides that you told yourself, if you could maybe be stopping her from getting worse by helping Papa pay for those fancy pills, well that was just that. That was all a lie and you knew it, too. Truth is, you wanted to get into the family business. You never wanted out of that life and the only reason you didn't start sooner was you didn't want to break Mama's heart. You knew she wanted just the one, at least, her baby boy to turn out right. You remember them ashes on the dirt. You've shot a couple of men, had to kill 'em both, but that was the worst you've seen so far. You remember the feeling in your hands. That might've been the best. If'n you can figure out how to do that again, anyhow. Got a few hours 'till the desert and scrub-grass turns to swamp and briars. Some time to think on the family business.

>Bootlegging. This is a tradition that's been going since before the prohibition, even. If it's legal or not don't make no difference. You're a Thorton, you're gonna make moonshine. Of course, maybe the business ain't as good as it used to be but the pigs don't too much care and besides, ain't nobody see nothing wrong with drinking what all's left over.
>Weed. The devil's lettuce. Been around for a while, probably ain't no worse than them cigarettes but them feds have been cracking down on it lately. Louisiana ain't the best soil for it but it probably ain't the worst. You got your suspicions about himself but Papa would shit if he ever caught you messin' with it.
>Meth. This is some bona-fide, newfangled poison straight out of some lab somewhere but you can cook it just fine yourselves. It sells for big money, faster than you can make it, sells fast to undercover suits too if you ain't careful. You won't dare to mess with it after what happened to Austin. Couldn't handle Mama so he got into it, and it ate him alive.
>You Thortons are into something besides that. This suitcase deal was just an opportunity your Papa saw and had you took. You've still got to keep it secret. If the law figures out, you'll be looking at a concrete wall for a long time. Your Choice. It can be anything if it's illegal.

>2/2
>>
>>5063074
>>You Thortons are into something besides that. This suitcase deal was just an opportunity your Papa saw and had you took. You've still got to keep it secret. If the law figures out, you'll be looking at a concrete wall for a long time.
Part of the reason I picked the bayou is the book "Highfire" by Eoin Colfer. It had magic and some dragons, but also crooked cops and traffickers.

My point being, there's a market for bayou Louisiana locals as essentially modern blockade runners, acting as middle men between southern cartels and their American clients.
Guns, drugs, who knows what else.
We don't.
We just get paid to sneak stuff through the bayou. Takes a local who spends their life fishing and trapping in it to know the passages no one can track. Feds and pigs can't cover everything, and small boats don't make a big fuss.
Danger is variable, so are clients. Potential for old arrangements or new deals at your convenience, OP.
>>
>>5063074
>>Bootlegging. This is a tradition that's been going since before the prohibition, even. If it's legal or not don't make no difference. You're a Thorton, you're gonna make moonshine. Of course, maybe the business ain't as good as it used to be but the pigs don't too much care and besides, ain't nobody see nothing wrong with drinking what all's left over.

Wouldn't mind seeing a synthesis with>>5063084

Considering bootleggers were well known for smuggling and all that, and that theres not so much money in it anymore but it helps keep the lights on. Big money in doing jobs for cartels and mafiosos tho
>>
>>5063084
+1 Haven't read that book but sounds interesting.
>>
>>5063074
>>You Thortons are into something besides that. This suitcase deal was just an opportunity your Papa saw and had you took. You've still got to keep it secret. If the law figures out, you'll be looking at a concrete wall for a long time. Smuggling. No one knows the swamps as good as us, and no one will cross them in any decent state without a guide or a local transport.
>>
>>5063074
>Weed. The devil's lettuce. Been around for a while, probably ain't no worse than them cigarettes but them feds have been cracking down on it lately. Louisiana ain't the best soil for it but it probably ain't the worst. You got your suspicions about himself but Papa would shit if he ever caught you messin' with it.
>>
There ain't much money in bootlegging no more, but the tradition don't die. Taking on new opportunities is the way to make cash, and being the definitive locals we gotta smuggle.
Alternatively, I'd like to see us as gun runners. Lotsa powder around us sounds fun
>>
>>5063465
LEOs don't go to the bayou area of the Thortons because its a wetter and more explosive piece of irl vietnam war reenactment.
I like it.

Smuggling a lot of shit and having tons of guns and explosives.
>>
>>5063084
have not seen this post, but now i am thankful that i did. The mention for the book is a good one anon, thx.
Op Bayou'nam is now a go.
>>
>>5063074
>Bootlegging. This is a tradition that's been going since before the prohibition, even. If it's legal or not don't make no difference. You're a Thorton, you're gonna make moonshine. Of course, maybe the business ain't as good as it used to be but the pigs don't too much care and besides, ain't nobody see nothing wrong with drinking what all's left over.
>>
>>5063084
>>5063125
>>5063240
>>5063322
>>5063465
>>5063492
>>5063502
Moonshining. Bootlegging. Doesn't matter what them lawmen calls it. Your kin's been doing it since before your grandpappy's grandpappy walked the earth and you hope your grandkids'll be doing it a hundred years from now. Of course, since the prohibition was dropped and new kinds of dope started coming out, things got a little lean for a while there. Not much money to be made anymore except for locals and "tourists" that don't know a mouthful of moonshine is something that'll knock 'em on their ass if they ain't been drinking twenty years and then some. Not even mention what a whole damn jar will do to a body. You've heard of alkies looking for something new getting their livers shot out because they don't know no better. Hell, you've been selling to 'em!

They want to buy it, that's their own damn choice and them feds can stay out of it. Else they'll get burnt. Maybe more now than used to be, huhuhuh. Huh. Yeah. Ain't like it used to be though. Used to be, moonshine get a man rich and his boys off to college if he knew how to keep it hush-hush. Nowadays it would barely put food on the table if you wasn't already doing that yourself. If you take some big risks, maybe go eight days a week, you could make about as much as them dope slingers, maybe even some more, but here about the last five generations to the dot, that ain't what the Thortons have been doing. No, moonshinin's tradition but that ain't where the real money's from. Thing about the bayou is, if you ain't know how to use a boat, it'll eat you up and spit you out. Thing about the pigs is, most of them don't know the inside of a motorboat from a bubblebath. You Thortons though. You've been doing it for a long damn time.

Them mexicans know it too. They can't handle them swamps neither but some of 'em is sharp, they understand the, ah, practicality, of leasing some of their distribution through the area to you and yours. The roads get checked all the time. Mules knocked out, blocks setup, but the swamps? Nah. If'n you know how to avoid what passes for a "patrol", keep quiet about what you're moving, and don't ask any questions you don't need to, there ain't no better way to be moving "contraband". Least as far as the money goes. Doesn't matter much what you're moving. Guns, drugs, maybe even mexicans. You do the work, you get paid. Easy is as easy does. Been working so far. Don't seem like it'll stop any time soon. You even get some business from folks stateside wanting to move such-and-such without raising a fuss. Hell, even if it ain't in a damn swamp, long as it ain't too obvious. Doesn't matter. Money talks and you listen.

>1/3
>>
>>5063713
You almost got shot over that just then. You know how fragile a body is. Dangerous. Maybe you should keep a lower profile, dial it back a little. Or 'till you figure out what in God's Name it was you were doing back there. Them flames came out of your hand like they was wet and you was holding a waterhose. Then you grabbed hot slag and didn't even get nothing but a red palm for it. That couldn't have been anything but some kind of supernatural. You ain't too superstitious, but you might even say that was some kind of magic. Makes you a magic man though, doesn't it? Fuck. Now that you think of it. How you was messing with them coals when you was a little boy makes a lot more sense now. Hell, maybe this was a long time coming. You just hope Papa and the rest of 'em don't take it too hard.

Now, y'all ain't exactly churchgoing folks but them ashes... That wasn't exactly a church cookout. About four more hours go by. You're going slow, both on account of the suitcase and 'cause you ain't exactly in the frame of mind to be putting the gas to the floor. You cross state lines and get into Louisiana. The terrain changed a fair ways before you got there but that's just how it is. Two hours later you've gone through all of them backroads and sideroads and loop-de-loops to keep anyone that don't know what they're messing with off your trail and now you're driving home. Nearest town's about thirty minutes from the house and the roads here don't too much deserve the name. That's why you drive a truck. Big tires, big engine, you could go bogging with it if you didn't already have a fourwheeler for it huhuhuh. An hour later you stop on the spot where it's mostly dry, put the shift in park, and grab ahold of the suitcase. It's after dark but you ain't worried. You've got the .357 but there ain't nowhere safer in the world.

You step out on the mud and take in the smell. There's a light shining through a window your Bubba made himself on that little tin house up on the hill. Three bedrooms, probably around fourteen spots to sleep. Every year it seems like it needs added to. You head up the grass where the trail's beatdown enough it ain't no slicker than plywood and get ahold of the horseshoe nailed to the door. You wait a sec and listen. You can hear some jawin' off inside. Either they's eating dinner or talking about the phonecall from earlier. This won't be easy. Maybe it will.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

>2/3
>>
>>5063715
They go quiet and you see the peephole slide open. You know someone's on the other end of it with a shotgun. Might be Austin, might be Bocephus. Probably Bocephus. Door comes open and you see the murder in his eyes turn to the dopey grin you grew up with. You was right. "Bo! Been a while!" He props open the door with his foot and waves you in with that wheezy laugh. "Yeah, since this mornin' idn't it? Aghaghagh! Oh hell, you still got that suitcase?" You shrug. "Somethin' like that. Gots somethin' I got to tell Papa." He makes sure to latch it shut. "Oh! Yeah well don't let me stop you, they's still workin' on some of that gumbo! We's wantin' to wait for you but Jancie didn't want it gettin' cold 'fore we got started." You don't mind. It's a predicament that happens a whole lot around here. You step in, set the suitcase on the couch, and head over to the kitchen room where some of the family's sittin'. About eight .They get quiet when they see you but they're all smilin'. Except Mama. She's got that slack-eyed look like when she's got to be spoonfed and it hurts you to see. Papa's sitting at the head of the table and he clears his throat. "Damn, looks like I need to go for a walk real-quick." The table gets dead-silent and most are grinning but it's that quiet, nervous type of grin. That's what Papa says when he needs to talk business.

He gets up and cracks his back a little. Man's in his late fifties, he's doing well enough but folks tend to get old quick around here. One of the boys pushes his chair in and Mama smiles. Goddamn. You shove your hands in your pockets and step back into the hallway before your eyes start watering. Papa hobbles in, takes two minutes to unlatch the door Bocephus just locked, and then heads out. You follow him and stand while he leans on the sheet metal. It's pitted with rust but the inside's more cozy than anything. That ain't what you're thinking about. He's looking at you with them business eyes of his. "Now what was it you was wantin' to temme over the phone? Boah, don't try to dance around it. Even if you pussied out, you need to temme, you hear? Ain't the end of the world. We don't usually have you runnin' dry and that was a bona fide Espaniola, y'know." You sigh. "No, no, it's not like that Papa." You listen to the crickets and watch for fireflies while you take your time.

>"Actually. It is a LOT like the time I dug my hand in them coals without gettin' burnt just to prove I could."
>"He pulled the pistol but I shot him first. Shot him when he was down too. I'm still thinkin' about it."
>"I actually didn't mean to kill that mexican. That was sort of an accident on my end."
>"Papa... How do you feel about magic?"
>"Uh... lemme just show you."
>You've got a different idea for how to break the news to him.

>3/3
>>
>>5063718
>Uh... lemme just show you."
>>
>>5063718
>"Actually. It is a LOT like the time I dug my hand in them coals without gettin' burnt just to prove I could."

>"Uh... lemme just show you."

Get someplace nearby that's both wet and secluded. Don't want to attract attention or set shit on fire.
Face away from Papa. Keep him on our side or behind us.
Go back trough our memories of the deal up until the point he reach for his gun, narrate it for Papa if we can. Mimic what we did back there.

If we follow the memories, we might be able to trick ourselves into thinking we're back there and do whatever we did.

If we try it cold turkey we'll probably fuck it up and just look dumb.
>>
>>5063718
>Uh... lemme just show you
>>
>>5063718
>>"Actually. It is a LOT like the time I dug my hand in them coals without gettin' burnt just to prove I could."
>>
>>5063718
turns out moonshining was ALWAYS a cover for something else. An illegal "front" for even more "if people find out, you'll get dissected" magic shit.
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>>5063782
+1 seems good to me, don't want to burn down everything.
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>>5063754
>>5063782
>>5063807
>>5064053
>>5064134
"Actually... It is a LOT like the time I dug my hand in them coals without gettin' burnt just to prove I could." Papa squints into the shadows just outside the light coming outta the homeplace. "... Now, that was awful strange-like. And I seen some strange things in my time... snake-handlin', zero proof hooch, and your uncle Wayman swears to God he seen bigfoot but that there was something STRANGE. You's sayin' that spic had somethin' to do with that?" You fidget with a spot on the pocket that's got loose thread like you do sometimes when you ain't sure what to say. You don't do that often. "Yessir. Even more, even than I think I could tell you. Even swear to you, and we's kin." The wrinkles in his forehead tighten. "Whatcha mean, boah?" You shake your head. "Uh... lemme just show you. I'll start from the top and we's go from there." You about go off into the swamp to try and get away from the house but that's how you get snakebit. You walk down the dry spots of the driveway you memorized from since you was a boy and Papa follows, catching on right away.

"There I was, outside this motel parkin' lot, yeah?" Papa grunts a little. "Mhm." You're telling him the story but your mind's back on what happened and trying to relive the memory.

>1d20+5 to Break The First Link, +4 for natural talent, +1 for memory
>This is a Tricky Task, so it will be Bo2
>>
Rolled 7 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>5064450
1
>>
Rolled 8 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>5064450
>>
Rolled 92 + 5 (1d120 + 5)

>>5064450
>>
Rolled 17 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>5064450
welp
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>>5064492
Oooh, just too late
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>>5064451
>>5064464
"So I gots the suitcase in my hands, you 'member?" You don't even have to look to know he's got that look on this face. That look that you can't be sure if he's thinking real hard or heating up where you can't see. "Mhmm. Indica, a favour from them 'Asphalt Scorpions,' seein' as we hauled 'em forty pounds of it for four-fifths the usual, seein' as their bossman got busted and he used to do good business with us. Through a middleman, of course." You take care not to get your boot snagged on a vine. "Yessir. So I was waitin' for him to get the money, yeah?" Papa scowls. "Already agreed on four-hundred. Should've been a done deal. Should've known better than trust them fuckin' spics."

The situation is crystal clear in your head. "Right. I saw him reach down for his pocket..." Everything slowed down a little when you realized he wasn't reaching for any money.
"Then he whipped a gun out of his holster. Didn't see what caliber, didn't have the time. Just some saturday special." Papa doesn't say a word and you stop. You hold your hand to keep him from moving in front of you and he holds off. "I realized I didn't have the draw on him, unless I could move twice as fast I was a dead man. But then my hands. I felt something mighty ITCHY and somethin’ tellin’ me, I… Instead of trying to match him I spread 'em out at 'em, like this, and then..." You focus on the thought of the fire that made the ashes. The swamp around you seems like it was dry as that parking lot. You can sense a pressure in your belly, getting thicker and hotter. It’s a foreign feeling but it’s the farthest thing from alien you’ve ever felt, like moving an arm you didn’t even know you ever had for the first time.

"I did like THIS."

The First Link has been broken. A spark has kindled.

You release the pressure and a second later, you feel a flicker in your hand. Papa stares and you open your eyes you closed and didn’t even realize you had. Your heart about stops at what you’re seeing. There’s a flame like from a butane lighter right between your fingers, except there ain’t no lighter and Papa’s seeing there ain’t no way you could’ve hid one with your hands out like they is. You don’t know what to say but you have to say something.

“Yeah, like that. Except it was bigger. Wasn’t nothin’ left of him but ashes. Melted the gun too, nothin’ but hot slag left. Couldn’t have been under it longer than three seconds. Had to have been hot. REAL hot, but when I accidentally grabbed it, I didn’t get nothin’ but some sunburnt.”

>1/2
>>
>>5064877
You look up at Papa and see him dumbstruck. “...Huh.” About a minute passes while he wrestles with what he’s seeing and then he gets deadly serious. “BOAH. Tell it to me straight. Did you make a deal with Ol’ Scratch?” You shake your head and your voice is as stern as his is. “NO SIR. I did not. I’ll swear it on the Good Book if you want me to.” You wring your hand and the flame disappears. You don’t feel any different than how you just did. Papa sucks in some air and sighs. “Boah, I can tell when you’re lyin’… and you ain’t lyin’. That’s just that then. Strange. You’ve always been strange. Probably should’ve seen somethin’ like this comin’.” You feel a weight off your shoulders.

“You ain’t mad then Papa?” He shakes his head. “Nah. Is what it is. Guess that’s just how God made you. Strange. No need to make no fuss about it.” You think for a second. This is about how you expected this was gonna go. Papa shuffles in his pockets, and cusses. There’s a cigarette in his hand. “Damn. Forgot my light back at the house. Guess I’ll have t-... BOAH." It’s your turn to be dumbfounded. He holds the cigarette at you and there’s an excited look in his eyes. “Ya think you could light it!?” You stammer. “I-I think I can, Papa… Lemme see.” You try to sense your inside and the pressure comes back. You let it sit a second then let go. There’s another flame. You hold it over the cigarette and both of you hold your breath while you wait. It catches a spark.

Papa’s grinning and you’re in disbelief. “Boah. That right there’s a miracle. That means you’s a miracle worker.” He takes a drag on the cigarette and you put your hands back in your pockets. He blows smoke and you watch it like you has a thousand times. “Ha! My son’s a miracle worker. Who’da thought? Boah, this’ll change our lives.” You’re deep in thought. Papa frowns. “Huh. When you gonna tell the folks?” You try to think and he goes on. “Now, now, I ain’t in no hurry. Hell, we can keep it our secret if you want to. It’s your gift. I’ll let you choose.” You think hard.

>You don’t want to tell anyone just yet. Least not ‘till you learned some more of what the hell you’re doing.
>You’ll try to tell everyone you know can keep a secret. Break it in real gentle-like, one-on-one, over the next few days so they don’t panic.
>You’ll walk right back inside and show the whole dinner table. To hell with it. You can’t trust family, you can’t trust nobody.
>You’ve got another idea for how to show ‘em. Maybe even some more folks 'sides.

>2/2
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>>5064878
>You’ll try to tell everyone you know can keep a secret. Break it in real gentle-like, one-on-one, over the next few days so they don’t panic
>>
>>5064878

>You’ll try to tell everyone you know can keep a secret. Break it in real gentle-like, one-on-one, over the next few days so they don’t panic.

Dude when you created this quest you struck some sort of ancient hidden vein of gold, good fuckin shit this is, I'll be here no matter how it goes ya feel me?
>>
>>5064878
>You’ll try to tell everyone you know can keep a secret. Break it in real gentle-like, one-on-one, over the next few days so they don’t panic.
>>
>>5064878
>You’ll try to tell everyone you know can keep a secret. Break it in real gentle-like, one-on-one, over the next few days so they don’t panic.
This is a really good quest so far. Good work OP.
>>
>>5064878
>You’ll walk right back inside and show the whole dinner table. To hell with it. You can’t trust family, you can’t trust nobody.
Caution is for carpetbaggers. Only Caveat I'll mention is not telling the family about our little dust up with the mexican guy who tried to shoot us.
>>
>>5064878
>You’ll try to tell everyone you know can keep a secret. Break it in real gentle-like, one-on-one, over the next few days so they don’t panic.

More people in the know means more suggestions on how to use our power
>>
>>5064878
>>You don’t want to tell anyone just yet. Least not ‘till you learned some more of what the hell you’re doing.
>>
>>5064878
>>You’ll try to tell everyone you know can keep a secret. Break it in real gentle-like, one-on-one, over the next few days so they don’t panic.

Only those we can trust not to tattle. And even then, I would still be more in favor of hiding it until we're a bit more competent, but the anons have decided/

As for the others, the deal went south, the guy drew on us and we had to ice him. We're a bit shaken, and need some time alone. Great cover for our training, especially with those we will have informed corroborating the story.
>>
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>>5064935
>>5064945
>>5064984
>>5065064
>>5065174
>>5065379
You shrug, “Family’s family. I’s got a mind to tell ‘em all, sooner or later, but this is really somethin’ else, ain’t it?” Papa takes a deep drag and nods. You see the smoke go a long ways. He doesn’t cough, hardly never does. “Yeah I hear ya.” You focus on your insides, some pressure starts cooking, and you release it about when it gets to a boil. There’s another flame in your hands. Papa gives it the side-eye and you’re staring. That settles it. Third time proves it ain’t a fluke. It seems like he’s having an easier time handling the whole situation than you is.

There’s a tiny bit of warmth on your palm, like you was holding a lighter over it. You’re glad it ain’t too cold out, this time of year. If you was to put a calendar to it, that’d be February, 14th, ‘bout mid-spring 1982. You let the fire snuff out and think a minute. “I think it might be best if’n I didn’t spring it on ‘em all at once, y’now. Got to be quiet about it. Tell everybody who can keep it quiet… then lay it on easy.” Papa taps the cigarette and some ashes sprinkle out. “Mhm. That’s how I’d do it. You just gots to ‘member, boah, don’t do it like a band-aid.” You finish the saying. “If’n I don’t rip it off quick, it’ll hurt more.” He smiles and you can see the old stains on his teeth. “Tha’s right.” He cracks his back and turns around. “Whelp, it’s gettin’ late. I better get myself back to the house. Make sure you get some of that gumbo, you hear?” You spot a firefly flicking between some weeds.

>1/3
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>>5065541
“Yessir.” He goes off down the driveway and you keep standing there. You think long and hard. The Thortons are an old family. Not the oldest there is, but they been in Louisiana for a damn long time. You been here for a long time. Twenty years but you was nineteen just eight months ago. You ain’t got no kids. Most of your kinfolks does, though. Only a few of ‘em still live with Ma and Pa, most taking care of her, some don’t want to move yet. Maybe ever. You ain’t sure what you is. Got a truck, working odd jobs here and there when you can, mostly in the family business. You think on your folks. You’re ‘bout the youngest of ten, discounting Cody and Cooper, born a year apart, the first one dead, the second with a couple of days for Mama to cry over him. Papa thinks that might’ve been what started to broke her. Branson thinks it was genetical and just about the same time. Branson thinks a lot of things. Got himself too smart for his own good. Left the swamps, works some kind of paper job. Maybe he never was cut out for bayou-living. Maybe he’s smarter than the rest of you.

Far as you know, he never told a soul. Still family. Visits every now and then. You think on who you know you can trust not to talk. You can trust everyone on most things, just who you know you can TRUST trust on this, ‘cause this ain’t no nothing. It’s BIG. Maybe real big. You got to be crafty ‘bout it. Who you gonna tell first and how's you gonna tell ‘em? You think about it on the way back. You’ll figure it out. There’s more family, for sure, but none you’d consider telling first-off.

>2/3
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>>5065542
>Darnell. Your big brother, first one born and he helped raise the rest of you. He’s in his 30s, almost closer to a daddy than anything else. Tall but ain’t lanky. Real serious ‘bout the family business. Done some things even you don’t know nothing ‘bout. Keeps hogs. Real serious about the Good Book too. If you’ll listen, he’ll recite Numbers straight outta memory, three hours on end. Only reason you’re considering him for first is that he cares more ‘bout his blood than ‘bout anything.
>Austin. Your other big brother, second one born, but he didn’t turn out too good. He’s ‘bout as old as Darnell, built ‘bout the same, but he ain’t no kind of example. Man’s a hard-drinker, fornicator with four kids by three women, always moping. It’s a damned shameful. He’s in and out with the law but never been caught boating. You know he can keep a secret.
>Jancie. Your big sister. Third, just turned thirty, ‘bout to start getting her own grandkids if you believe what you hear from her ‘bout how big her kids are getting. Nicest person you know, like how Mama used to be before she got ate up. Can’t hardly stand nobody getting hurt, keeps quiet ‘bout the family business but you get the sense she’s ashamed of it. She used to always be reading them fancy library books, she’d probably take it well. Guarantee she wouldn’t get violent at least.
>Bocephus. Fourth of the litter. Big ears, a little short. Met you at the door just earlier, that’s ‘bout how he usually is. Damn mean to anybody he don’t know, but he’ll do anything for family. Anything. You’d be scared of him if you didn’t grow up with him. Still living with Ma and Pa, but you get the feeling that's 'cause he wants to be there for Papa more than anything. He might be a safe pick, might have some ideas too. You ain’t sure how he’d take the first impressions though. Could be a gamble.
>Trevor. Sixth. Looks like you but he got more of Mama in the face and a real big cut on his side of his face he got from messing with a boat motor. He’d be kind of like Bocephus if he didn’t keep quiet about things but he ain’t never breathed a word ‘bout the family business neither. Spends most of his time out in the bayou. Likes to ramble and carries a big knife. You ain’t sure he’s all there.
>Earline. Number nine. She’s a sweet girl unless’n you grew up with her, ‘bout twenty-two, red in the hair and honest to God one of the least merciful folks you’ve ever seen or heard tell of. You’ve seen her look a pig dead in the eye and lie ‘bout a ten pound wrap of dope in the seat right under her. She’ll gut anything, not even worry ‘bout washing her hands ‘less you remind her. Only one of the girls interested in violent stories, too. s’posedly waiting for that special someone before she has kids. Starting to get antsy. Still living with Ma and Pa. He's on edge 'bout her finding Mr. Right but ain't nobody in no hurry.

>3/3
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>>5065546
>>Darnell. Your big brother, first one born and he helped raise the rest of you. He’s in his 30s, almost closer to a daddy than anything else. Tall but ain’t lanky. Real serious ‘bout the family business. Done some things even you don’t know nothing ‘bout. Keeps hogs. Real serious about the Good Book too. If you’ll listen, he’ll recite Numbers straight outta memory, three hours on end. Only reason you’re considering him for first is that he cares more ‘bout his blood than ‘bout anything.
>>
>>5065546
>Darnell.
>>
>>5065546
>>Darnell.
Use the miracle worker angle Dad brought up. Make it clear we're not possessed, that this is something that's always been there, and that we want to use it to help the family.
>>
>>5065546
>Trevor. Sixth. Looks like you but he got more of Mama in the face and a real big cut on his side of his face he got from messing with a boat motor. He’d be kind of like Bocephus if he didn’t keep quiet about things but he ain’t never breathed a word ‘bout the family business neither. Spends most of his time out in the bayou. Likes to ramble and carries a big knife. You ain’t sure he’s all there
We'll show him while we're both on the boat. Or knee deep in the swamp, I'm not sure how this works.
>>
>>5065546
>Darnell. Your big brother, first one born and he helped raise the rest of you. He’s in his 30s, almost closer to a daddy than anything else. Tall but ain’t lanky. Real serious ‘bout the family business. Done some things even you don’t know nothing ‘bout. Keeps hogs. Real serious about the Good Book too. If you’ll listen, he’ll recite Numbers straight outta memory, three hours on end. Only reason you’re considering him for first is that he cares more ‘bout his blood than ‘bout anything.
>>
>>5065546
>Darnell. Your big brother, first one born and he helped raise the rest of you. He’s in his 30s, almost closer to a daddy than anything else. Tall but ain’t lanky. Real serious ‘bout the family business. Done some things even you don’t know nothing ‘bout. Keeps hogs. Real serious about the Good Book too. If you’ll listen, he’ll recite Numbers straight outta memory, three hours on end. Only reason you’re considering him for first is that he cares more ‘bout his blood than ‘bout anything.
maybe we could even grill some porkchops or something
>>
>>5065546
Darnell for the older brother reality check, then Jancie because I have a feeling she'll have ideas on how to train our magic all practical like.
>>
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>>5065598
>>5065606
>>5065633
>>5066042
>>5066487
>>5066597
There ain’t no much other choice to make. It’s got to be Darnell. Just how it is. First you told Papa, next you’ll tell your big brother and then the rest of the family. If this was anything else that’s what you’d do. All that ‘side, he’ll know what to do, he’s always been savvy. You think on how you’re gonna handle it. Darnell lives ‘bout two miles south of Ma and Pa, in a shack ‘bout like theirs, with that Abernathy girl he married here a while back and the four kids they’ve got. Been doing pretty well for himself. Has a big motorboat, a five-year old pickup truck, brand new by this part of the bayou, and enough money to keep hogs and sell ‘em some. Works in a sawmill doing something with his hands. He tells it, job’s mostly moving lumber and keeping new employees from losing their fingers with their foolishness. Doesn’t pay too good but it’s enough to float and between that and the family business, he’s doing plenty good.

Thing ‘bout the family business is that you can’t be doing it every day. You can’t be getting no kind of pattern and you can’t always having the same kin be working with the same people. Gots to be chaotic, unpredictable-like, otherwise investigators’ll catch a wind of how you operate and from there, it’s making the cable news, ‘cause you don’t think none of your folks would let a pig get some handcuffs on ‘em and you know damn well you wouldn’t sit and watch. You know you’d get violent about it. You think a sec. It’s a sunday, which means he’s probably doing Bible study with his kids like he does. Good chance he wouldn’t much appreciate a visit right now, you don’t think.

>1/4
>>
>>5066666
Hang on a minute, ain't it valentine’s day? Ah hell, you damn sure don’t need to be getting over there then. You know he don’t celebrate it on account of it being a catholic holiday or something like that, but you know his wife’s the sentimental type, and they probably got something planned. Yeah. You better steer clear for tonight, least. Thing is he’s usually busy on mondays too and him being God-fearin’ as he is, you get the same problem on wednesday as you would on sunday. He’s doing Bible-study with his kids. You know he’d drop everything to talk to you no matter what time you showed up, ‘cause you’s family, but this is a delicate situation and you want everything to be as right as rain for when you break the news for him. That means you’ll leave him alone tonight and then you’ll go ahead and maybe do some more digging into this tomorrow. You’ll meet him on tuesday, best time for it. You get back to the homeplace and open the door. It ain’t locked but when you step in Bocephus is sittin’ on the couch with a shotgun next to him and a bowl of gumbo in his lap. He’s spinnin’ a yarn for one of Papa’s grandkids, a lanky 16-something by the name of Charlton, who’s sitting there next to him asking all kinds of questions like you’d expect, and he glares up ‘till he sees it’s you, then he nods, all civil-like, and you both grin for a minute while you walk back deeper into the house.

Papa’s sitting at the table but some of the chairs are missing and you see Jancie’s getting her kids together. One of ‘em is missing but you know where they is. Heh. You guess most of ‘em is getting back to their homes, it getting late and all, but there ain’t nothing wrong with that. Tomorrow’s monday and some of ‘em gotta be getting up early for work and school. You see Jancie looking and Mama, concerned, and she smiles at you but doesn’t stop to talk, she’s too busy herding her kids. She’s on the bigger side, wider, maybe, no, ain’t bad as some is but you got to be honest, there ain’t no maybe ‘bout it, and always wearing them old floral prints, born seven kids to be her husband so far, and that’ll probably be it. You’ve met him a few times. Jackson Bakeman, an old-salt welder who’s getting on up there in his years. Friendly enough but a little distant. You get the feeling he knows ‘bout the family business and don’t want him or his kids having no part of it.

>2/4
>>
>>5066669
You look at the folks that are left. Mostly a couple of Jancie’s kids, now Krystal ain’t here, thank God, but you can see Obediah sitting there in a corner. That’s the fifth’n born, just after Bocephus. He’s a real thoughtful type, real depressed and REAL religious. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him talk to any woman ‘side from his wife and their three kids. Every time you see him, he’s either reading the Bible or looking off in the swamp, he’s only worked for the family business a few times and it like to have killed him, how guilty he seemed ‘bout it. Sad. You love him ‘cause he’s family but you ain’t sure it’d go over well as it would with Darnell, first-time. You ain’t too close. You guess you believe in God, most everybody does, but you ain’t turned it into everything you do, just pray every now and then and try to steer clear of anything too sinful, y’know. When you can, anyways. Killing a few men for dope money ain’t too church-like but what else you gonna do? That’s the life you feel like you was made to lead. An outlaw, except you’s crafty enough you ain’t been caught yet.

You pat him on the shoulder and he pats you on the back, then you get yourself a bowl of that gumbo. Like hell you’re going to sleep that early. An hour later of you jawin’ off ‘bout nothing and tryin’ not to upset Mama too much with her not recognizing you too good, you clean off the bowl in the sink and then you move on. You go to sleep on the old single bed that’s in the backroom, the one your feet dangle off of, and don’t think nothing of them springs ‘cause you’ve ignored them long enough. That night you don’t dream none you can remember but when you wake up, you feel a hell of a lot warmer than usual. It’s 7AM, an hour after you usually get up, and you curse. Now you ain’t got so much time as you would. You get up, slide your boots on, and head around. All the family’s cleared out, except the ones that never left, Bocephus is crashed out on the couch and you know Earline’s somewhere or another. Papa might be talking to Mama, he might be out in the swamps, or he might be cooking the books. Can’t be sure. There ain’t no obligations on your calendar and Papa tells you ‘bout the business when he needs to, so it’s up to you to decide how you want to spend the next couple of hours.

>3/4
>>
>>5066673
>Go out into the swamp and test the limits of what you can do with the flames. How’s that even a question?
>Read the Good Book. Skim it and then study it, real deep-like. Having a verse or two you could quote might help the news go over better with Darnell.
>Get in your truck and drive into town. You’ve got $40 you could spend, and might could find an odd-job on the side if you was looking.
>Get in your boat and go fishing out on the bayou. Ain’t nothin’ else you’d rather be doing. Right now, best thing to do might be to clear your head.
>Go looking for Papa, he’ll be around here somewhere, maybe he’s got something he needs you to be doing or could use the company, at least.
>Wake up Bocephus, might not be too happy ‘bout but you’ve got a mind to talk to him for some reason or another. Maybe you could do what else you was plannin’ with him.
>Look for Earline, odds are she’s sewing something and wouldn’t mind an ear to talk to, but problem is you ain’t got too much to talk to her ‘bout.
>You got another idea. This whole house and the swamp around it’s near enough your oyster. Always has been. You hope it always will be.

>4/4
>>
>>5066674
>>Go out into the swamp and test the limits of what you can do with the flames. How’s that even a question?
>>Get in your boat and go fishing out on the bayou. Ain’t nothin’ else you’d rather be doing. Right now, best thing to do might be to clear your head.
Either or. Fresh fish might be a good bribe for Darnell if we can catch enough for him and his family... but maybe having a better handle on our ability will make explaining it easier.
>>
>>5066674
>Go out into the swamp and test the limits of what you can do with the flames. How’s that even a question?
>>
>>5066674
>Read the Good Book. Skim it and then study it, real deep-like. Having a verse or two you could quote might help the news go over better with Darnell.
>Go out into the swamp and test the limits of what you can do with the flames. How’s that even a question?

We've seen them hoo doo men do wierd shit befer, and they's godfearing folk. MAybe we is more a cleric than a wizard. Read bout that Moses feller, he did some neat stuff we could try out.
>>
>>5066674
>>5066705 +1
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>>5066674
>>5066705
+1 Seems good to me.
>>
>>5066674
>>Go out into the swamp and test the limits of what you can do with the flames. How’s that even a question?
>>
>>5066705
+1 Yeah this seems good
>>
>>5066705
The closest I can think of is Elijah dabbing on the priests of Baal. 1 Kings 18.





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