Gringle Quest Online

Thread of Chapters! Click here to read from the beginning! Prologue: twitter.com/i/events/12534…

[ OOC: Apologies for the pause in chapter 1 content. Right now is a very busy time for us, but we'll do our best to resume Gringle Quest as soon as possible! Thanks for reading :) ]

Suddenly, your peaceful conversation in the forest is interrupted by some weird fucking Booph or something. Way to be a weirdo, dude.

At your question, she giggles. "He leaves quite the impression, don't he?" Putting her revolver away, she continues "But he ain't all bad. He took me in despite me not havin' a {signature} or nothin'. Said me inventory was pretty impressive n' he had high hopes for me future."

Ruth grins "Fo'real? That's hella, mate! Bit strange pick for a weapon but hey, I ain't judgin'. If it works it works." She reaches to her belt and draws a revolver. "This old pal's been me partner for few years. Pretty dependable fella, I'll give't that."

As you keep walking together, you feel a strange romantic drive and decide to give her a compliment. "HAT" you blurt out anxiously, causing her to jump a little "Wha!? Whatcha need fella!?" Ruth looks towards you. "... Me hat? What 'bout it, eh?"

"Figured ya looked like an odd lil fella, with the floaty body n' all. So ya ain't from 'round these parts? Well ya see, Queen's Field(s) is the whole region 'round the capital. The Queen is the ruler of these lands, been to it to quite a few years. Can't say I seen her meself."

She doesn't particularly seem to know how to react to your action, but replies to your question nonetheless. "Oh, nah mate. I been killin' lotsa stuff. Me old home's pretty nasty with things that can put a hole in yer mug. Had to get used to it 'cha know?" She chuckles

Ruth looks at you with an expression that screams "w0t m8"

After St. Croaker and St. Cazador left you to your own devices, you and Ruth decided to take a bit of a walk. Sitting there in the middle of the fields awaiting their return would be a little too boring. You make your way to a nearby forest. The colors are different here, too.

St. Viver speaks up. "It's as Tipho said. We are done here." He takes a step forward, towards the heart, offering a prayer to the deceased. "The Sanctum giveth, the Sanctum taketh away. May he be reborn in a better place... At a better time." The others join him in silence.

The chamber falls silent for a few seconds. Unbearably so. After the pause, St. Pheau is the first to speak up "Oh, no... The string! The Tender! I... We have to..." She stops, her eyes tearing up. St. Tipho grimaces. "Save your tears... There is nothing to be done."

Great Saint: "That is all I wanted to show you. With that in mind, I urge you to go and-" "!?"

St. Pheau: "What... What would happen if the strings snapped...?" Great Saint: "..." St. Cazador: "... Something of a countdown to the end of the world, I guess." Great Saint: "This... Is what you're fighting to stop."

Great Saint: "The strings that tie together the very fabric of reality are deteriorating. While the noise has yet to defile this sanctum, its influence is burning away at the strings. My Tenders and I have been attempting to at least slow down this process- But to little avail."

St. Maize gasps in horror once his eyes land on the small figures of the cloaked Tenders. "Oh, by the Gods... If the Tenders are here, then..." He stops, shaking his head. St. Viver: "If the Tenders are present, then..." The Great Saint stirs: "... Indeed."

You and your fellow Saints quietly make your way into the Lower Chamber, guided by the sounds echoing through the dank halls below the sanctum. You eventually find the opening leading to the heartstrings. Unfortunately, it seems things aren't as well as you had hoped.

The Great Saint's voice echoes as he proceeds. "Your reports shall be taken in consideration, and your new tasks will be provided shortly. But for the time being, I'd like all of you to come into the Lower Chamber." St. Viver stands up "Yessir." he utters, casting [Passport]

St. Viver: "As for us, we have been holding the line quite well. We have finished clearing the cold blue desert of Torsh from its intruders and pushed through last month's noisestorm." Great Saint: "Very well. I shall rellocate you to Farramleigh, to assist the Pure."

Great Saint: "Ridiculous! It is a well known fact that the noise is mindless and barbaric. It bears no intellect, no strategy. Your claims are based in coincidences and misinterpretation of similar sets of patterns." St. Maize: "Then... Forgive my claims, sir." Great St.: "..."