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162455 No. 162455
Hi there guys, you may remember me by my other tripcode, [REDACTED], or by my other writings such as [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], or [REDACTED]. I've decided to get a few ideas out of my head, and since I missed the write-a-thon last week, I must do it the old-fashioned way. The following stories are short, and based off of ideas that turned out to be no good for long haul CYOAs. As usual, you the readers have the Conn. Write-ins are accepted, though not mandatory as is seen in [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Starting off with this one because title puns.

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"You live by the sword, and you are therefore deigned to die by it. Am I not correct to assume that this is a principle upon which your honor is based?"

He nods. I know him not; I merely chanced upon the fallen figure of a dying warrior during one of my mid-evening strolls. Fate is not to blame for our meeting, only my curiosity led me to appear before him and speak. Even my words are a peculiarity; I wish only to know why one would wade out into clear and present danger only to be struck down for his trouble and, that knowing that this outcome is nigh assured, is still not dissuaded. This one should consider himself lucky. Dying humans do not often come face-to-face with their ultimate end while it waits to stake its claim. Fewer still have questions posed to them as they lay dying. Death often greets them first, and death is far more greedy than I.

"I find myself in a quandary," I say, anticipating the moment he draws his last breath. I do not wish to ease his passing with kind words, nor will I tell him that his ultimate fate lies upon my whim, "As humans seem to do, should I commend you for your bravery? Or shall I tell you exactly what that honor of yours has bought you?"

He seeks to reply, yet falls dead before the words can be said. Unfortunate for me, for I would have liked to hear his answer. A bit of insight into the 'human condition' for one who does not hold the necessary 'human qualification. Lucky for me in another way, because I was getting ready to progress his croaking via a decidedly artificial means. A quick knife to the throat is a preferable death to succumbing to a slow bleeding stab wound in the gut, most should agree. Yet I'm continually chided by my employer for taking them 'before their time'. Not that I can help but be caught, there are no secrets to be kept from that one's prying eye. Still, a shame I didn't get to have my question answered. I had a whole speech prepared and everything.

I wait while death takes its proverbial two pieces of gold, and I take the leftovers. One dead body, more fuel for the fire. Ironic perhaps, that his body will be used to fuel the fires in which he may eventually spend a considerable amount of time. Honor or no, a warrior such as this has certainly ended the lives of others. The lords on the other side look none too kindly upon that sort of mischief. Humans may believe they do right by living according to their own standards of honor, but their morals and the regulations set in place by those who judge them are utterly incompatible. I harbor no ill will towards the former human, but he should consider himself lucky I do not let the worms have him first. They'd probably make him burn better. Without necessitating further eloquence, this is the fate his 'honor' has bought him.

I find myself thankful to see that death was rather generous today. This makes the fifth whole one I've stumbled upon today, which places me well over the expected quota if I include parts and non-human collections. Usually I happen upon one or two whole humans a week, and never in so great a shape as this. I heft the body over my shoulders, and not minding the blood seeping from old wounds I take it home with me. I look forward to the praise and much-deserved relaxation in store for me when I get back.

Funny how that works, though. The words I receive upon my return are less than what I expected.

"Rin, these ones have bled out," my employer and caretaker tells me, "We can't use them."

"I thought the dried up ones were better?" I reply in a bit of a bewilderment.

"The aged ones are better. If there are no fluids left in them, they won't burn long or hot enough."

Ah, yes. Simply marvelous. My sarcasm does not fall on deaf ears, as the woman in front of me is somewhat of a telepath. Her penchant for semantics notwithstanding, she 'sees' what I think clear as day as if I were speaking aloud to her. This bodes poorly for me in no small number of ways, as I am somewhat secretive by nature. It doesn't make the fact that my work has been for naught any less depressing to me. Rather, it serves to amplify my misery, as I know she knows that I am feeling disheartened as well as the exact nature and depth of it all, yet she still speaks to me so coldly.

"So all this work..."

For nothing, yes," she sighs, "I'm sorry Rin, but this is why I said no soldiers. I can make these ones work for now, but we'll need at least six more."

Six? She does realize how hard I have to work even for one, yes?

"I do," she says, indulging in her usual custom of responding to what I think as opposed to what I say.

[ ] Tell her off.
[ ] Get back to work.
[ ] Make someone else do it.

>> No. 162457
[ ] Get back to work.

Get to work kitty.
>> No. 162458
[x] Get back to work.

Good kitty
>> No. 162459
[x] Get back to work.
What if we start stuffing them with sawdust? Will that make them burn any better?
>> No. 162460
[X] Get back to work

>>162459
Smalltime. We source to Alice and stuff them with gunpowder.
>> No. 162464
[X] Get back to work.

Unlike a certain other redhead, we're not lazy.
>> No. 162479
[N] Get back to work.
>> No. 162482
[X] Get back to work.
>> No. 162505
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162505
A sigh, a frustrated grumble, a clenching of teeth. This is an aggravating development, but not one to which I am unfamiliar. The work must be done, and as unfortunate as it may be I am the one who must do it. Nobody else around here is willing to get their hands or clothes bloodied, that's for sure. My employer knows this, and likes to think she keeps me well paid and well fed as recompense. Not a word more is spoken by me nor her as I leave, as is normal. She sees my intent, and nods gracefully in silent approval as I return without a complaint in the direction from whence I came.

And as I come upon the trees I find more fallen warriors, all dead as ever they could be. I recognize the area as the same from which I'd carted off my last haul, I see the bloodied stump over which the dying man was slumped. I can't help but wonder, what would provoke such carnage? Humans do not often fight and die in such great numbers, and the manner of slaughter seems identical for each body I find. One stab wound each in the gut, piercing the liver. Each one drained nigh entirely of blood. It lends me to believe that the adversary they were facing may have been alone, though I suppose a well-trained few could have taken them by surprise. The smell of the area presents a certain inhuman element; a dry and malodorous scent not commonly carried by humans or their livestock, but not strong enough however on the bodies to imply that it may be what did the killings. But I shy away from danger, present or no. And having found only like-dressed and well-armored soldiers, I retreat into the brush, eager to steal away before the killer presents itself.

I eventually happen upon a village, and opt not to explore. Not out of lack of curiosity; there is much of that to go around. But out of necessity I am forced to overlook it. Night comes soon, bringing all manner of unimaginable terrors out into the open to hunt. To become prey for one is not a fate I wish to meet, so I settle on a trusty but somewhat tedious method of grave robbing. A silent shoveling, some rustling of dirt. I kick open the wooden coffins and fill my cart. The smell is fresh, horrifyingly so despite its familiarity. I wish that I was not born with a nose.

A thought comes to mind on the return journey. Something bleeding obvious, yet I had neglected to take it into account: to return home, I must go back the way I came. Plain common knowledge to all, yes? And I had known this, yet forgot to take into account the tiny little detail involving a certain wooded area in which a slaughtered group of soldiers now sleeps eternal, and to pass through it I may run the risk of being somewhat murdered. The thought didn't happen to cross my mind until I realized that I had been followed out of the village.

Such times are when the mind runs wild, filling itself to the brim with hypothetical situations and imaginary dangers. Perhaps I have been followed by a human, one curious as to what exactly I plan to do with their dead. On the other side, perhaps old stabbity blood-drainy soldier killer has found me and aims to do me up nice like its soldier boys back there.

Ah, I may have failed to point this out, but I'm already well past that point on my trip home.

[ ] It's just my imagination.
[ ] Turn and face the pursuer.
[ ] Cat.
>> No. 162512
[x] Turn and face the pursuer.
Sup.
>> No. 162514
[ ] Cat.

Meow.
>> No. 162515
[X] Cat.

No one suspects the cat of anything... right?
>> No. 162516
[x] Cat.

This has the makings of a wonderful tale.
>> No. 162517
[N] Cat.
Verbing weirds language, nya.
>> No. 162533
[x] Cat.
>> No. 162534
[] Cat
>> No. 163399
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163399
My pursuer draws closer, their footsteps grow impatiently faster. The smell of blood grows strong as I hurry my pace to match. Now, at this particular moment I find myself in an impasse. A number of options have presented themselves and it would appear that I must do one of two things:

One, I turn and face my follower. I try to use brute force to drive them off. Direct confrontation is not a strong suit of mine, so this would assuredly result in my death. Two, I ignore what is happening and continue on my merry way. Also, die horribly via stab wound in the gut. Three--and this seems the most viable option by my reckoning--drop the cargo and run for it. A shame to lose such a haul, but sacrifices must sometimes be made to continue being not dead.

Now Rin--you might say--there are actually three choices you have mentioned thus far, not two. And I might explain that two of them result in certain death, and that the end results as opposed to the means of achieving said results are my only options. Therefore, I have two options: die or not die.

Not dying seems intrinsically preferable to the alternative, so I'll go with my gut on this. I drop my cart and duck into some bushes. What happens beyond this cannot be explained--a girl must protect her modesty after all.

...To elaborate, Stabbity McMurder-Nut is looking for humans to kill, yes? A human girl just so happens to not be a cat, though that goes without saying. Upon ducking into the bushes, I do some unspeakable stuff to my clothes and then simply cease to exist as a human. To keep things succinct, I become a cat.

Just to be perfectly clear I was never actually not a cat, nor am I a human pretending to be a cat pretending to be a human. I am just a normal cat under the normal guise of normal human form. Perfectly normal. Odd as that may sound, that is the way I am and always have been. Those with common sense enough to realize that a beautiful human girl is not a cat tend to be preyed upon around these parts.

[ ] Do cat stuff.
[ ] Go home.
[ ] Be naked.
>> No. 163400
[x] Be naked

Other options? What other options?
>> No. 163405
[X] Do cat stuff.
-[X] ...Naked cat stuff.
>> No. 163408
[C] Do cat stuff
>> No. 163414
[x] Go home and be naked.
>> No. 163465
[X] Go home and be a family cat.
>> No. 163476
[X] Do cat stuff.
[X] Wait for Stabbity McMurder to leave, then grab your haul and bring it home.

Obvious thing to do.
>> No. 163480
[ ] Be naked.
>> No. 163482
>>163405
I interpret this as, and vote for,
[x] Clean yourself.
>> No. 163578
[N] Do cat stuff.