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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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9471808 No.9471808 [Reply] [Original] [4plebs] [archived.moe]

You wake up in the middle of the night to see a succubus sucking your penis.

For some reason, she's not draining your lifeforce, only your balls.

She smiles and tells you she has inhibited that ability. She also says that she has been following you secretly for a time and, in her 5000 years of existance, you are the first mortal that she has actually felt something akin to love.

Wut do

>> No.9471828

Smite and loot

>> No.9471835

If you want a succubus dump then ask for it, don't make a shit thread pretending to not be a porn dump request.

>> No.9471839



>> No.9471862
File: 81 KB, 447x364, 1261027154122.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

They'd call me Conan the Destroyer after I was done with her.

>> No.9471871


>> No.9471880

>>implying everyone wants a succubus dump.

>> No.9471888

Question the fuck out of this.

>> No.9471899


>> No.9471918

Shower her with affection, because even if she's lying, she'll likely be the best thing that ever happens to me.

>> No.9471975

call my fucking priest and blast it with holy water

>> No.9471994

ha ha oh wow

>> No.9471996

Break her heart so she can learn her place in the world. Then convince her I did it because of all the retarded fetish threads on /tg/. She then unleashes demonic wrath on OP.

>> No.9472004

If she's still going to steal souls.


>> No.9472016

Hmm... probably feign love interest so I could go on TV and exploit her for millions no billions of dollars

>> No.9472026

I make sure that she doesn't have a penis.

Then I love her.

>> No.9472027

With an extra shot of smite

>> No.9472032

I ask questions, because this whole affair confuses the hell out of me. Succubi exist? I can inspire love in them? What?

>> No.9472045

If she can beat me she can have me.

I doubt she can beat me.

>> No.9472064

I'm happily married so

I'm sorry it wouldn't work out


>> No.9472068

"5,000 years, the whole of recorded history, and the entire world to chose from? And I'M the best? What, did you spend it in a glacier? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

>> No.9472083

pull her close and hold her, just hold her.

>> No.9472091

I take out my sledgehammer and start murdering the fuck out of that heretic.

>> No.9472099

Tell her that I'm a radical Inquisitor, commit heresy(and lots of it!), then love her until she inevitably leads to my end.

>> No.9472120


That's some low self-esteem there.

>> No.9472126
File: 402 KB, 700x743, PRISS!.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Chill, and let it ride.
Tell her I apologize in advance for dying, but I'll be the best man I can while I live.

Then nibble her horns....delicious, delicious horns.

>> No.9472134

1. Can't rape the willing so love her tenderly.
2. she is fucking 5000 years old, so start writing historybooks/ make archological digs with the data she can provide, giving us a nice and comfy livestyle.
3. Repeat from 1

>> No.9472137


1. Tell her to come back later because my roommate is presumably sleeping not ten feet away.
2. Learn from her exactly what her existence implies cosmologically. Learn things no mortal has learned.
3. Have her tell me her life story. A firsthand witness to 5000 years of history is all kinds of awesome for me; the whole sex demon thing is icing on the cake.

>> No.9472139

I ask if she wants to play D&D afterwards.

>> No.9472142

Assume she's lying, probably wants my money, like every other girl who says sappy shit like that.
Keep her around as long as she behaves, if she's good, she even gets an allowance.

>> No.9472150


More like realism.

>> No.9472151


so you already have a succubus draining your lifeforce. kudos!

>> No.9472152



>> No.9472154

Gee, girl. Couldn't you come up with a more sensible plan than waking me - a pathological shy person who always has been sceptic about supernatural stuff - up with a fucking blowjob and then tell me you are a freaking demon?

Excuse me while I lose my sanity in that corner over there, would you?

>> No.9472157
File: 71 KB, 424x441, 1263085469714.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>she has been following you secretly for a time and, in her 5000 years of existance, you are the first mortal that she has actually felt something akin to love

I'm afraid I just shat myself from laughing too heavily.

Then I check to see if she can be the futanari for me.

>> No.9472174
File: 54 KB, 235x265, 1272412874044.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Tell the bitch to hurry up with the kinky mindrape already. I don't want a demonic mistress who's some sort of confused, codependent moeblob. I ask the higher Planes for that shit.

>> No.9472178

Tell her that Crom Cruach wont fool me, then fuck her anyway. Then I turn into a murder of crows.

Scion, fuck yeah.

>> No.9472192
File: 32 KB, 300x300, oh-snap.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9472203
File: 700 KB, 360x203, 1272397623793.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>, you are the first mortal that she has actually felt something akin to love.

Aha, I use my lamp as a improvised weapon and hope it goes through this wenches damage reduction till shes shattered into pieces!

...then ask a local priest if I can use her wings as fiendish grafts for flying fun

>> No.9472392

Obviously I try to spin the situation to my advantage.

1. Companion with succubus powers that could come in handy in numerous situations
2. The vast amounts of knowledge she surely possesses
3. Always someone warm and attractive to share a bed with
4. Charm ability for easy diplomatic solutions

1. You will suddenly have enemies. Lots of them. Paladins and Clerics are likely going to think you're under mind control, when they find out its a willing relationship you'll be branded a traitor and try to smite you and the succubus.
2. Most peasants/townsfolk are going to flee in terror at the sight of a demon.
3. She'll probably need lifeforce from somewhere. If you develop an emotional attachment to her and she doesn't want to hurt you by taking your energy, it means you're going to have to deal with her draining other men.
4. Bards everywhere are going to hit on your woman

>> No.9472420

Kill it, good exp!

>> No.9472433

Ask her if I can put it inside, the pleasure of cumming inside is superior to cumming in the mouth.

>> No.9472434

Interesting lists, but what do in a modern, real time setting?
Like if this happened tomorrow morning.

>> No.9472451

I question her taste in men.

>> No.9472518
File: 79 KB, 510x640, succubus visit.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Is it something like this?

>> No.9472556

"Holy shit, where did these balls come from?!"

Seriously, I think I'd be more worried about that than the succubus.

>> No.9472559

your pun is awful, sir.

>> No.9472564

That depends heavily on two factors.

1. Can she disguise her true nature and lose the wings/horns to look like a normal human?
2. Is there going to be pissed off angels/demons trying to harm us because of the nature of our relationship?

>> No.9472570

don't worry, they eventually drop.

>> No.9472578

Hah! Because you're female! Funny.

But seriously, Succubi give women penises. S'what they do.

>> No.9472579

lol, are there actually any stories like this?

>> No.9472589

Eh, it was a pun and a serious response. I don't merit a 5000-year old sex supremo's crush.

>> No.9472592

The bitch would have to come some other time, I have finals tomorrow.

>> No.9472596

Wait, tame succy?



>> No.9472606

Cool. Now get off my penis. There's more to love than just sex. I could teach you if you're willing to learn.

>> No.9472626
File: 95 KB, 600x750, variant paladin.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Try to change her alignment.

>> No.9472635

rolled 12 = 12

in the unforseen case that you are in fact a woman you wake up with an incubus doing...stuff.

"I would be questioning your taste in men good woman, but as this is the only and by extension best chance at sex I have ever had I gladly accept.

can we cuddle now?

>> No.9472641

Hidden World scenario: devils, angels, magick, -all real.
Just mostly all covert, or dead. Supernatural forces require true faith or at least genuine dread to function, and there's barely any of either left.
So _tiny_ chance of supernatural happenings, but otherwise Life As We Know It.

>> No.9472648


>> No.9472660

Thats an Incubus bro.

>> No.9472680

I call bullshit.

>> No.9472688

Even hotter.

>> No.9472693

I'm not using it

>> No.9472695


>> No.9472699

Fucking marry that bitch.

>> No.9472712

She's going to suck our soul juices from from our dicks! RUN GUYS!

>> No.9472714
File: 56 KB, 540x541, 1272284288158.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


I sense a plot hook.

Fuck it, according to a D&D personality test, I'm a neutral good fighter with a few levels of wizard.

Just about any non-human woman as my bride is right up my alley. I would have hoped for halfling or a Medusa with a magical blindfold, but a succubus who won't eat my soul and is willing to try new things with me (wild and crazy sex for me, third base monogamy for her) then FUCK WIN!

>> No.9472722

If she can hide her nature somewhat then I go for it.

At worst I suffer an agonizing death from energy drain, at best we have some amazing times and a good deal of fun. Honestly I see it like this. Everyone dies. Not everyone truly "lives"

>> No.9472723

I would say exactly this. If you know who I am (thank the gods you don't) you'd realize I'm not the epitome of a perfect companion...

...then again, if she's willing to have me, who am I to complain?

>> No.9472728

Just his me: this is basically just Twlight, for men...and some very phallus-tolerant lesbians.

>> No.9472746

If we go by our DnD test personas, this shit happens to me all the time because I am an incredibly badass sorceror.

>> No.9472773

The very fact that it's for men means it's nothing like Twilight at all.

>> No.9472798

"I don't want to have sex because I could hurt you."

"Yeah, fuck that."

>> No.9472827

Who said anything about hurting? Obviously she just wants sex and won't be feeding. The fact that she's drinking your jizz without eating your soul is proof.

>> No.9472831

Ask my sister where she got the costume.

>> No.9472850
File: 106 KB, 500x343, darth-vader-noooo.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9472859

I kill it because it is literally a being composed of pure evil.

>> No.9472863

Twilight reference, bro. It's the reason they don't sleep together until book 4.

...no, I haven't read it.

>> No.9472868

Well, if she hasn't decided to drain my lifeforce right there, its probably legit.
Ask her if she would also like to watch over me while I sleep, considering that this situation brings to attention the fact that anything could come up to me while I'm asleep and suck my soul or what have you.

>> No.9472896

Thanks asshole. Now I'm gay for fapping to that picture.

>> No.9472914

I probably freak out, kick her a few times, til she GTFO's then fap to the memory of it. ;_;

>> No.9472941

Yeah... if she's been watching me for any time at all she knows that the first thing is going to be questioning how I managed to be the best guy on earth. Then an ego trip. There's definitely an ego trip coming on strong there. Then, and only then, do we move on to sex.

Incidentally, if she stops sucking me off for any longer than needed for answering my questions during this process, take hold of horns and move her back into place.

>> No.9472954

Make sure she has no penis, then tell her that to prove that she loves me, she needs to come up with some elixir that makes my body better and/or turns me into a human/demon hybrid.

>> No.9472982

What if she just has a fetish for chubby guys?

>> No.9472988

>Make sure she has a penis, bang the hot trap.

>> No.9472991

Oh, and before I forget make sure she DOES have a penis

>> No.9473038


>> No.9473065

Well, she would obviously say, "I like you the way you are right now."

Then I would be like "Okay, but can you give me something to keep alive beyond a normal human lifespan?"

>> No.9473075

Piss and pray, on general principle.

>> No.9473085

Piss into her mouth?

>> No.9473170


beat you off?

>> No.9473172
File: 98 KB, 796x598, Tisslose.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

break out the candles, i guess.

>> No.9473238

I scream as I realize I've just gained a penis

>> No.9473251

change sucking to lapping and penis to vagina. Okay now post.

>> No.9473255


>> No.9473280

>Change lapping to tongue thrusting and change vagina to asshole.
There. Everyone is covered.

>> No.9473328

I panic and start crying. I hid my head under the pillow hoping this is a bad dream. I then go full force religious. I've already meet a demon, shit got real.

>> No.9473350
File: 970 KB, 300x225, typicaljapanesebananafolk.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

since im obviously flipping shit, i may as well treat myself to a banana.

>> No.9473433
File: 21 KB, 389x388, 1270132064210.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9473462

Remember, always think in light and pray

>> No.9473521

I would love her with all my heart T~T

>> No.9474501


I'd kiss her, stroke her back, and then we'd start learning how to please each other.

We'd talk more about this afterward.

>> No.9474579

Well, most of it anyway. Egyptians and the other ancient middle eastern powers were around 10000 years ago

>> No.9474736

You have your own pet demon/sex toy now. Great job

>> No.9477744
File: 418 KB, 1920x1200, hotfuzz.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

it's a trap: for you D&D players
It's an ambush: for you WoD players
It's Heresy: for you DH players
It's treason: for you paranoia players
Point is i pull out my gun

>> No.9477876

I go to /b/, and promptly spend my days trollin the fuck out of religion threads and explain why they're all going to hell for fapping to cp and use the succubus as proof.

>> No.9477942

This is probably a trap. Nevertheless, I'm naive enough to fall right into it!

>> No.9477963

I wonder where the penis come from.

>> No.9477987

"I don't think that's probable. Can we talk about this? Without the fellatio?"

>> No.9477992
File: 27 KB, 454x365, 1250852711546.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

If you had paid attention to the OP, you would know that your gun has already been drawn by the lady

>> No.9477996

would kick that wyrm-thing out of my bed, chase it out the door

>> No.9478014

why aren't there more succubus pics dammit

>> No.9478045

Sorry, I only date tentacle monsters

>> No.9478117


My alarm clock goes off.

Damn that thing. That always happens when I'm getting to the good parts of my dreams.

>> No.9478172

"You have bad tastes, but keep going anyway."

>> No.9478185

you underestimate my paranoia... i pull my spare gun, and if not my tertiary gun and if not my 4th gun and so on and so forth. you can tell my dm is fond of me

>> No.9478243

shouldn't put your self down like that, lace

you'll find one what accepts your 'hobbies'

>> No.9478308

>assuming paladins and clerics dont live in the modern world

>> No.9478345
File: 49 KB, 512x640, 1207096396386.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Marry her in a good Christian ceremony then bone the Hell out of her. Literally if possible.

>> No.9478422

I ask her to continue, cum all over her face, then say "Sure, why not?"
The next day, I pull a Crowley and go out and get holy water and tuck it away somewhere in case of an emergency. Good-Omenfags will know what I'm talking about.
In the meantime, I enjoy the benefits of having a busty sex demon as a girlfriend.

>> No.9478434

I demand writefaggotry of this situation from SOMEBODY.

>> No.9478448

Not just writefaggotry...FAPTASTIC writefaggotry. Preferably with some attached drawfaggotry as well.

>> No.9478628
File: 57 KB, 400x550, Indeed - Teal'c.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>I don't sleep with holy water handy.
You lucky, lucky green son of a bitch. You'll learn though. You will...

Pic related.

>> No.9478782

Fuck the shit out of her, apologize to my girlfriend later. If both of them truly love me then there can be sharing.

>> No.9479056

Be completely gobsmacked that there is an (apparently) actual succubus professing feelings for me and blowing me in the middle of the night.

Be so stunned that I'm utterly unable to resist her wiles or her preternaturally skilled mouth. Make helpless noises as she drains me as much as she wants to.

Eventually recover (if she lets me) and try to talk to her more about why she said that, what she means, what she intends to do now, figure out if there is any way this could possibly work.

Hope this leads to incredible awesome sex and life improvements, and not death, madness, and angst.

>> No.9479088

hey guys, just fyi: we've got this great board called >>>/r9k/. it's really good and we'd enjoy it if you checked it out, posted some, and stuck around for a while. see you there! toodles~

>> No.9479176

1) Get her to turn over, and the face fuck her till I can't cum any more.

2) Give her a kiss.

3) Ask he why she admires me so much, then talk to her about live as a succubus and the knowledge she has.

>> No.9479258

>Wut do
live a long and loving life together.

(well, long for me anyway)

>> No.9479498

There once was a succubus, of great power. She terrorized the land, draining souls of men. As she grew in power, the king sent his mightiest warriors to slay her. None of them survived. Eventually an army of men were raised to fight here, but she was too powerful. With a snap of her fingers, each rank had their souls sucked from their body and died.

A great darkness fell on the kingdom.

One day a simple bard heard the story of the Succubus and set out to find her. During his great journey, his righted many wrongs and save many lives. He was a hero and his reputation preceded him. The Succubus grew intrigued and wanted to meet the Bard. She allowed him to enter her lair and looked at his thin frame.

>> No.9479514

"Ha! So scrawny!" she laughed at the Bard, his hood obscuring his face.

He stepped forward..

"Come to kill me? Many have tried, many who were much stronger than you. You will not leave here alive."

The Bard said nothing, he felt no fear at her threats. She insulted him again, and threatened. No remark could provoke a ration from him. Enraged the Succubus tried to steal his sou, but something was wrong, here powers were useless against him. Terrified, she fell to her knees and began to cry, for the first time in here life she was fearful of death.

>> No.9479527

The Bard then began to walk closer, his hand drew close to the hilt of the blat at his side and she screamed for mercy. But the Bard wasn't reaching for his sword, he instead drew a small box from his pouch.

"Milady." the Bard Spoke in strange voice.

"I heard you were a powerful being who can do almost anything. Please. Make it so I can love. All I can offer you is this gift."

The Bard opened the small box which contained a simple broach.

>> No.9479536

The Succubus, still on her knees and reached for the Bard's hood and removed it. The Bard was in truth an automaton. His cold, clockwork heart could never feel the warmth he longed for. For the first time ever, she was touched. She fell in love with the Bard and vowed her loyalty to him. She died three days later, unable to feed.

For the first time in his life, the Bard felt sadness.

>> No.9479558

Bard is a Mary Sue.

>> No.9479572

I love the "ITS A TRAP" guys. "She could have killed me already but instead she set up a trap!" ...to do what?

>> No.9479584

I deleted the old copypasta I wrote a long time ago. This is from memory with extra spelling mistakes.

>> No.9479610

To fuck with you for fun.

>> No.9479629

>vows loyalty to bard
>dies from not feeding
ITT:Idiot forgets to feed his succubus.

>> No.9479748

Fuck you, it's sad story.

>> No.9479781
File: 298 KB, 760x596, succubus.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Chain her up with the other one.

>> No.9479812

What's the previous fic to this one?

>> No.9479821

See: oglaf

>> No.9479839

/tg/ is Ronery

>> No.9479844
File: 463 KB, 1142x1600, purimu.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

... I feel like I've read this before... oh, ha, I have

>> No.9479858
File: 72 KB, 310x451, 1271376359238.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9479862

Smite. The answer to EVERYTHING with demons is smite, absolutely no exceptions.

>> No.9479871

this thread is what's wrong with /tg/.

>> No.9479874
File: 19 KB, 272x409, moar.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9479884
File: 858 KB, 1143x1600, purimu.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

It's a shame that the g.e. page is old and full of broken links. Oh well. Source:

>> No.9479896
File: 932 KB, 1143x1600, purimu.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9479907

more or less the point of the story.

>> No.9479913
File: 454 KB, 1145x1600, purimu.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9479923

OP's the cancer that is killing /tg/.

>> No.9479937

dig it

>> No.9479948

I need this manga...

Links to working english versions? Plox.

>> No.9480061


>> No.9480073

>4. Bards everywhere are going to hit on your woman
Endless supply of energy.

>> No.9480085

I think this thread could have been better if OP said "You wake up in the middle of the night to see an incubus sucking your penis."

>> No.9480158


"Smite" her in the cleaveage.

>> No.9480333

This page is so hilarious and sad.

>> No.9480359

This reminds me of Ugly Americans with that guys succubus girl friend.

>> No.9480490

No really, what the fuck is wrong with you guys having these pathetic jerk fantasy threads all the time?

Are you really so lonely that you have to remind people that you are masturbating? Because really, so fucking pathetic, fucking take a shower now and then go look for a job.

>> No.9481822

What is this PIECE OF SHIT thread still doing on first page?

Honestly /tg/, I'm disappointed.

>> No.9481828

I laughed.

>> No.9481885

No really, what the fuck is wrong with you guys having to shit all over our jerk fantasy threads all the time?

Are you really so ashamed of your own sexuality that you have to remind people that you're not masturbating? Because really, so fucking pathetic, fucking fap and then go take a shower.

>> No.9481914

If I enter into a relationship with a demon, I'm probably damned anyway. So i cut her head off.

>> No.9481938

Best kind of bump right here.

>> No.9481958

I'm gay, so I'll purge the she-demon!

>> No.9481962

Play hard to get by refusing sex with her; claiming I could never have sex with a woman I'm not in love with.

>> No.9481978

I'm a stupidly submissive faggot, So I probably end up redfaced and begging.

I am a fag.

>> No.9481982

Tell her that you wanna roleplay. You be the succubus she be the helpless knave.

>> No.9481986

fuck you OP.

>> No.9482018


I'm not gonna say he's completely right, but this thread really is shit. It shouldn't even exist on /tg/. Not because of its sexual content, though such material is only permitted on /tg/ within limits, but because it is stupid, unoriginal, immature and completely unrelated to traditional games. It is a failure of a joke from a guy who thinks that just because he likes to jack off to mythological creatures commonly present in some role-playing games he's entitled to create crap like this on our board.

>> No.9482063


>> No.9482092


I ask to be transformed into a succubus too. I will stil love her as a sister.

>> No.9482120


What kind of faggotry be this?

>> No.9482123

I like where this is going

>> No.9482173

how many posts does a thread need before it starts auto-sageing? what are we up to now?

>> No.9482185


>> No.9482194

Reported for misuse of sage

>> No.9482200
File: 66 KB, 680x760, 1272252621337.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


No, really now?

>> No.9482202


>> No.9482214

can we actually get a succubus dump though? i wouldn't mind a few good ones to make into a wallpaper

>> No.9482217


>> No.9482223


>> No.9482229


>> No.9482230

geas geas geas geas geas

>> No.9482231

i can think of no better use of sage than for this shitty, non traditional game related thread.

>> No.9482236


>> No.9482237


>> No.9482241


>> No.9482244

Should I dump the succubus comic in spite of the sagefag?

I mean, since he's annoying me with his sage... I didn't even bother with this thread for several ours and I see his sagespam, looking so pathetic. Makes me want to mess with him.

So, shall I add some succubi fic?

>> No.9482250


no just dump succubus pictures comics are gay.

>> No.9482262
File: 25 KB, 300x333, 021503BillCosby2.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9482270

anything that gets the post count higher so this thing fucks off sooner, why not.

>> No.9482274
File: 582 KB, 1270x1600, The_Diary_Of_Purimu_1-000.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

So you don't want this:

>> No.9482278

These are your people:

>> No.9482285

Pictures always bumps thread until pics max out.

And that won't stop me from making another thread.

It will continue until you wise up and learn there is a program that lets you hide threads instead of being a newfag.

>> No.9482288

boop de boop

>> No.9482289

Sorry bud. Sage is only for not bumping threads if you're posting off topic. Using it to show disproval is bannable

>> No.9482294


no thanks i can get it myself.

>> No.9482303

"Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam, eaque ipsa quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt explicabo. Nemo enim ipsam voluptatem quia voluptas sit aspernatur aut odit aut fugit, sed quia consequuntur magni dolores eos qui ratione voluptatem sequi nesciunt. Neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit, sed quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem. Ut enim ad minima veniam, quis nostrum exercitationem ullam corporis suscipit laboriosam, nisi ut aliquid ex ea commodi consequatur? Quis autem vel eum iure reprehenderit qui in ea voluptate velit esse quam nihil molestiae consequatur, vel illum qui dolorem eum fugiat quo voluptas nulla pariatur?"

>> No.9482306

sage a ma taz

>> No.9482307
File: 330 KB, 1162x1549, S1.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

K, diff succubi one then.

>> No.9482310
File: 328 KB, 1179x1550, S2.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Don't bother with finding the rest of this comic btw.

>> No.9482314

that's cool, i'm going to bed soon. i'm just fuckin witchoo at the moment.

>> No.9482316
File: 372 KB, 1168x1576, S3.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9482322
File: 368 KB, 1182x1577, S4.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9482325


if /tg/ had mods this thread would have been deleted.

>> No.9482329
File: 79 KB, 726x1000, DD5.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482334
File: 78 KB, 800x685, DDDDD.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

No actually, if succubi were furry, it can be bannable.

Unfortunately, this thread stays even when mods are around.

>> No.9482339
File: 82 KB, 725x800, Succubus.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482340


It's a roleplaying question, it warrants a roleplaying answer.

What isn't /tg/ about that?

Also you're just sad, abusing sage when saging on it's own does nothing.

>> No.9482342

there are no mods here.

>> No.9482346
File: 121 KB, 1000x933, Succubus1.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482350


>> No.9482351
File: 62 KB, 900x900, Succubus2.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

No, mods are universal when something is reported....

I should know, having been banned enough times over 3 years.

>> No.9482361
File: 475 KB, 1280x941, 1272068793720.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482365

wow, it must be really sad and pathetic to game with you if succubus blowjob fantasy discussions are par for course in your games.

>> No.9482367
File: 43 KB, 482x535, Succubus Cuddle.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482371
File: 98 KB, 1000x1000, Daemonette 2.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482372

for posting ghey shit like this no doubt

>> No.9482373
File: 235 KB, 800x678, 1272085225702.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482380


>it must be sad and pathetic to stay on a thread for hours saging when you don't like the thread

Fixed it for ya.

Also, I didn't say it was GOOD roleplaying, just that it was.

>> No.9482385

No, it was over other things that were removed, every time I was banned it was a permaban.

And once, I pissed off a mod that was anonymous.

>> No.9482387
File: 87 KB, 700x541, gnollwants.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

Gnoll wants!.

>> No.9482388
File: 44 KB, 355x425, woody-allen01.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

I think I like you, it's like meeting me, but you know, a cool me. My psychotherapist is going to have a field day with this.

>> No.9482391


For the disgrace and decadence of everything that is great, cool and interesting on this board.

If there is any of it left, that is.

>> No.9482402

>sagefag made the thread interesting, attracting attention for the thread


>> No.9482403
File: 118 KB, 907x1280, 1272085894843.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


and yet here you are.

>> No.9482414


>> No.9482417

No it isn't. Note the sideboob.

>> No.9482425
File: 154 KB, 1280x901, 1270505916241.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482430

Pretty sure you're referring to some long hairs, dude.

You can tell it's yaoi just by virtue of the artstyle anyway.

>> No.9482439
File: 128 KB, 800x1000, Exposure.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>guess who forgot to sage
>probably didn't sage to avoid being seen as samefag

>> No.9482443

what a pity you evaded the bans.

>> No.9482450
File: 171 KB, 562x800, 1272089104314.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482451

>see WoW tab

>> No.9482452


nope, that one wasn't me.

>> No.9482460


The server doesn't lie.

>> No.9482464

Why don't both of you shut the fuck up. This is why /tg/ can't have nice things.

>> No.9482466

Wow forum tab open....

>> No.9482467

No. lern2anatomy

>> No.9482468



Also, bumping your sage.

>> No.9482476

well, the server tells some interesting tales then, b/c i have yet to forget the most important spice of all.

>> No.9482482


bumping your sage

>> No.9482487

Super cool delusional story, bro. You should see if >>9482388
can hook you up with a shrink.

>> No.9482490

What? Suck a bus?

>> No.9482511


>> No.9482513



>> No.9482515
File: 34 KB, 500x380, Debates.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

It's funny how mad the sagefag gets..

>> No.9482525

I want to thank you, sir, in helping to shit up this thread.

Your subtle efforts have not gone unnoticed.

>> No.9482530


bumping your sage

>> No.9482536
File: 187 KB, 482x800, 1272089391477.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482538

And you as well, assuming that you're not the same person.

>> No.9482542


bumping to counteract the sage

>> No.9482552
File: 28 KB, 336x322, 1265618404768.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9482556


>> No.9482559



>> No.9482564


>> No.9482598

>No, it was over other things that were removed, every time I was banned it was a permaban.

>And once, I pissed off a mod that was anonymous.

i wonder if enough people reported this post if you'd get banned again?

probably not. there are no mods on tg.

shit, they should make me a mod. oh, how i would banhammer shitty threads like this. sigh.

>> No.9482603

Man, you guys are a credit to /tg/ for bumping this thread. Look at all the wonders that are being produced in here!

Oh wait. It's just a handful of chucklefucks saying "bump" over and over.

>> No.9482615


(Every time you sage, I will bump. Therefore, it's you who is bumping the thread. Your sage is useless.)

>> No.9482622


bumping the sagefag's failures

>> No.9482624

well at least it's not another 40k thread.

i kid, i kid!

>> No.9482627


bumping this faggot

>> No.9482629

Can we get that manga thing. that is all

>> No.9482631

>implying a sage somehow "de-bumps"

>> No.9482632

No! It is your age that is useless!

My Wu-Tang style is immensely strong and highly dangerous.

>> No.9482639

faggot saging!


>> No.9482640

This is why we can't have nice things /tg/!

>> No.9482648



You're doing it wrong. It doesn't de-bump shit, it just doesn't bump. Therefore, every time he sages, he's bumping through me.

>> No.9482655


bumping this guy

>> No.9482659

this thread is why we can't have nice things.

>> No.9482660

But you already bumped...you don't need to do it again.

>> No.9482662



>> No.9482665

Sagefag now realizes he can't win.


>> No.9482668

and if my saging didn't piss you off so much i doubt i'd be doing it.


>> No.9482669

Why can't we have a collaborative discussion on peasant psychology?

>> No.9482671


It's fun shitting all over a thread via people trying to save it.

>> No.9482673



>> No.9482677



>> No.9482681


great, you should start another thread about that. that might actually be tg related, unlike the crapfest in here,

>> No.9482687

This is kinda like a techno song. Bump. Bumpbump. Bumpbump.

>> No.9482689



>> No.9482693

sage sage sage

>> No.9482696



>> No.9482701

bumpan for delischious

>> No.9482704


Bump! Bump Sage! Bump Sage! BUMPBUMP! Bump! Bump Sage! Bump Sage! BUMPBUMP!

>> No.9482705
File: 28 KB, 218x251, 1270906832272.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9482706


>> No.9482707



>> No.9482709

I forget why we bump this thread?

>> No.9482712


wait i mean sage

>> No.9482713

and then everyone was trolls.

>> No.9482718



>> No.9482719



>> No.9482722

no really, though, what's the max post count before a thread fucks off finally? and how close are we?

>> No.9482724
File: 34 KB, 306x227, 1270009134435.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482726



>> No.9482731

I ask her where I can sign up to join her in hawt succubus-hood.

>> No.9482732
File: 215 KB, 680x829, 1271379208753.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482739
File: 30 KB, 398x318, rouge-black-hole.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482740

because he can't start a new thread

>> No.9482741

hrmm as a paladin I think this is the best opportunity to reform and rehabilitate this demon so she can be a functioning member of society.

Granted Reformed demons have a low success rate, but hey my code dictates I give all sentient live the same just dues.

>> No.9482748
File: 7 KB, 180x180, Eldar Warlock.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


>> No.9482751


IT WAS the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way -- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy- five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and- twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America:

>> No.9482753
File: 69 KB, 500x417, 1271037959759.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482754


Congratulations, you did the OPPOSITE of killing the thread. You made it one of the most active threads on the board.

Bitching about things that aren't /tg/....according to the rules of /tg/, you, sir, are breaking the rules.

>> No.9482758

which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrels of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.

>> No.9482761



>> No.9482762
File: 11 KB, 211x214, 211px-Sovereign_Codex_Image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482767

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of "the Captain," gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mall was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, "in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:" after which the mall was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty

>> No.9482769
File: 2.43 MB, 4000x2393, 1268972895369.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482773

of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of sixpence.

All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures -- the creatures of this chronicle among the rest -- along the roads that lay before them.

>> No.9482775

not if its no threat to humanity

>> No.9482777


IT WAS the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's Hill. He walked up hill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbade a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty.

With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary "Wo-ho! so-ho- then!" the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it -- like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.

There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as

>> No.9482785

the waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings, and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into it, as if they had made it all.

Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in "the Captain's" pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable non- descript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass.

The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey.

>> No.9482798

"Wo-ho!" said the coachman. "So, then! One more pull and you're at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it! -- Joe!"

"Halloa!" the guard replied.

"What o'clock do you make it, Joe?"

"Ten minutes, good, past eleven."

"My blood!" ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shooter's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you! "

The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach

>> No.9482799
File: 61 KB, 600x394, parasite_eve.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.9482804

stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman.

The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.

"Tst! Joe!" cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.

"What do you say, Tom?"

They both listened.

"I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe."

"I say a horse at a gallop, Tom," returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. "Gentlemen! In the kings name, all of you!"

With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.

>> No.9482805

Well; she could have already killed me when I was sleeping. And I wont get a chance like this again ever...So tap that shit like there's no tomorrow.
Knowing how weird my life is, I probably end up the centre of a love 'triangle' with the succubus, a drider, a dryad, a dragon, 2 tieflings a gay cowboy and the Loli reincarnation of Atilla the Hun. Go figure.

>> No.9482808

The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they remained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting.

The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation.

The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.

"So-ho!" the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. "Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!"

The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a man's voice called from the mist, "Is that the Dover mail?"

"Never you mind what it is!" the guard retorted. "What are you?"

"Is that the Dover mail?"

"Why do you want to know?"

>> No.9482818

"I want a passenger, if it is."

"What passenger?"

"Mr. Jarvis Lorry."

Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.

"Keep where you are," the guard called to the voice in the mist, "because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight."

"What is the matter?" asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. "Who wants me? Is it Jerry?"

("I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry," growled the guard to himself. "He's hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.")

"Yes, Mr. Lorry."

"What is the matter?"

"A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co."

"I know this messenger, guard," said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road-assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. "He may come close; there's nothing wrong."

"I hope there ain't, but I can't make so 'Nation sure of that," said the guard, in gruff soliloquy. "Hallo you!"

>> No.9482825

"Well! And hallo you!" said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.

"Come on at a footpace! d'ye mind me? And if you've got holsters to that saddle o' yourn, don't let me see your hand go nigh 'em. For I'm a devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now let's look at you."

The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small folded paper. The rider's horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.

"Guard!" said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.

The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answered curtly, "Sir."

"There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank. You

>> No.9482834

must know Tellson's Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to drink. I may read this?"

"If so be as you're quick, sir."

He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and read -- first to himself and then aloud: "'Wait at Dover for Mam'selle.' It's not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, RECALLED TO LIFE."

Jerry started in his saddle. "That's a Blazing strange answer, too," said he, at his hoarsest.

"Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night."

With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in; not at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the hazard of originating any other kind of action.

The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to the supplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smith's tools, a couple of torches, and a tinder-box. For he was furnished with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out, which did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.

>> No.9482839

"Tom!" softly over the coach roof.

"Hallo, Joe."

"Did you hear the message?"

"I did, Joe."

"What did you make of it, Tom?"

"Nothing at all, Joe."

"That's a coincidence, too," the guard mused, "for I made the same of it myself."

Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding about half a gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily- splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing and the night was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill.

>> No.9482856

"After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I won't trust your fore-legs till I get you on the level," said this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare. "'Recalled to life.' That's a Blazing strange message. Much of that wouldn't do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You'd be in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry!"

>> No.9482861


A WONDERFUL FACT to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?

>> No.9482872

As to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance, the messenger on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the first Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the three passengers shut up in the narrow compass of one lumbering old mail coach; they were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each had been in his own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the breadth of a county between him and the next.

The messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at ale- houses by the way to drink, but evincing a tendency to keep his own counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over his eyes. He had eyes that assorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with no depth in the colour or form, and much too near together -- as if they were afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too far apart. They had a sinister expression, under an old cocked-hat like a three-cornered spittoon, and over a great muffler for the chin and throat, which descended nearly to the wearer's knees. When he stopped for drink, he moved this muffler with his left hand, only while he poured his liquor in with his right; as soon as that was done, he muffled again.

"No, Jerry, no!" said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. "It wouldn't do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it wouldn't suit your line of business! Recalled -- ! Bust me if I don't think he'd been a drinking!"

His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, several times, to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, which was raggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, and growing down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so like Smith's work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have declined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over.

>> No.9482876

While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the night watchman in his box at the door of Tellson's Bank, by Temple Bar, who was to deliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night took such shapes to him as arose out of the message, and took such shapes to the mare as arose out of her private topics of uneasiness. They seemed to be numerous, for she shied at every shadow on the road.
What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon its tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To whom, likewise, the shadows of the night revealed themselves, in the forms their dozing eyes and wandering thoughts suggested.

Tellson's Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank passenger -- with an arm drawn through the leathern strap, which did what lay in it to keep him from pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his corner, whenever the coach got a special jolt -- nodded in his place, with half-shut eyes, the little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly gleaming through them, and the bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became the bank, and did a great stroke of business. The rattle of the harness was the chink of money, and more drafts were honoured in five minutes than even Tellson's, with all its foreign and home connection, ever paid in thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms underground, at Tellson's, with such of their valuable stores and secrets as were known to the passenger (and it was not a little that he knew about them), opened before him, and he went in among them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle, and found them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had last seen them.

>> No.9482886

But,  though the bank was almost always with him, and though the coach (in a confused way, like the presence of pain under an opiate) was always with him, there was another current of impression that never ceased to run, all through the night. He was on his way to dig some one out of a grave.

Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves before him was the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did not indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of five-and-forty by years, and they differed principally in the passions they expressed, and in the ghastliness of their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness, submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so did varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and figures. But the face was in the main one face, and every head was prematurely white. A hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this spectre:

"Buried how long?"

The answer was always the same: "Almost eighteen years."

"You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?"

"Long ago."

>> No.9482901

"You know that you are recalled to life?"

"They tell me so."

"I hope you care to live?"

"I can't say."

"Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see her?"

The answers to this question were various and contradictory. Sometimes the broken reply was, "Wait! It would kill me if I saw her too soon." Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was, "Take me to her." Sometimes it was staring and bewildered, and then it was, "I don't know her. I don't understand."

After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, and dig, dig -- now with a spade, now with a great key, now with his hands -- to dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth hanging about his face and hair, he would suddenly fan away to dust. The passenger would then start to himself, and lower the window, to get the reality of mist and rain on his cheek.

Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the moving patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreating by jerks, the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the train of the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple Bar, the real business of the past day, the real strong rooms, the real express sent after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. Out of the midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would accost it again.

>> No.9482903

"Buried how long?" 

"Almost eighteen years."

"I hope you care to live?"

"I can't say."

Dig -- dig -- dig -- until an impatient movement from one of the two passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm securely through the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering forms, until his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid away into the bank and the grave.

"Buried how long?"

"Almost eighteen years."

"You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?"

"Long ago."

>> No.9482911

The words were still in his hearing as just spoken -- distinctly in his hearing as ever spoken words had been in his life -- when the weary passenger started to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the shadows of the night were gone.  

He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was a ridge of ploughed land, with a plough upon it where it had been left last night when the horses were unyoked; beyond, a quiet coppice-wood, in which many leaves of burning red and golden yellow still remained upon the trees. Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the sun rose bright, placid, and beautiful. 

"Eighteen years!" said the passenger, looking at the sun. "Gracious Creator of day! To be buried alive for eighteen years!"

>> No.9483002


WHEN THE MAIL got successfully to Dover, in the course of the forenoon, the head drawer at the Royal George Hotel opened the coach-door as his custom was. He did it with some flourish of ceremony, for a mail journey from London in winter was an achievement to congratulate an adventurous traveller upon.

By that time, there was only one adventurous traveller left to be congratulated: for the two others had been set down at their respective roadside destinations. The mildewy inside of the coach, with its damp and dirty straw, its disageeable smell, and its obscurity, was rather like a larger dog-kennel. Mr. Lorry, the passenger, shaking himself out of it in chains of straw, a tangle of shaggy wrapper, flapping hat, and muddy legs, was rather like a larger sort of dog.

>> No.9483031

"There will be a packet to Calais, to-morrow, drawer?"

"Yes, sir, if the weather holds and the wind sets tolerable fair. The tide will serve pretty nicely at about two in the afternoon, sir. Bed, sir?"

"I shall not go to bed till night; but I want a bedroom, and a barber."

"And then breakfast, sir? Yes, sir. That way, sir, if you please. Show Concord! Gentleman's valise and hot water to Concord. Pull off gentleman's boots in Concord. (You will find a fine sea-coal fire, sir.) Fetch barber to Concord. Stir about there, now, for Concord!"

The Concord bed-chamber being always assigned to a passenger by the mail, and passengers by the mail being always heavily wrapped up from bead to foot, the room had the odd interest for the establishment of the Royal George, that although but one kind of man was seen to go into it, all kinds and varieties of men came out of it. Consequently, another drawer, and two porters, and several maids and the landlady, were all loitering by accident at various points of the road between the Concord and the coffee-room, when a gentleman of sixty, formally dressed in a brown suit of clothes, pretty well worn, but very well kept, with large square cuffs and large flaps to the pockets, passed along on his way to his breakfast.

The coffee-room had no other occupant, that forenoon, than the gentleman in brown. His breakfast-table was drawn before the fire, and as he sat, with its light shining on him, waiting for the meal, he sat so still, that he might have been sitting for his portrait.

>> No.9483045

Very orderly and methodical he looked, with a hand on each knee, and a loud watch ticking a sonorous sermon under his flapped waistcoat, as though it pitted its gravity and longevity against the levity and evanescence of the brisk fire. He had a good leg, and was a little vain of it, for his brown stockings fitted sleek and close, and were of a fine texture; his shoes and buckles, too, though plain, were trim. He wore an odd little sleek crisp flaxen wig, setting very close to his head: which wig, it is to be presumed, was made of hair, but which looked far more as though it were spun from filaments of silk or glass. His linen, though not of a fineness in accordance with his stockings, was as white as the tops of the waves that broke upon the neighbouring beach, or the specks of sail that glinted in the sunlight far at sea. A face habitually suppressed and quieted, was still lighted up under the quaint wig by a pair of moist bright eyes that it must have cost their owner, in years gone by, some pains to drill to the composed and reserved expression of Tellson's Bank.
He had a healthy colour in his cheeks, and his face, though lined, bore few traces of anxiety. But, perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in Tellson's Bank were principally occupied with the cares of other people; and perhaps second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, come easily off and on.

Completing his resemblance to a man who was sitting for his portrait, Mr. Lorry dropped off to sleep. The arrival of his breakfast roused him, and he said to the drawer, as he moved his chair to it:

"I wish accommodation prepared for a young lady who may come here at any time to-day. She may ask for Mr. Jarvis Lorry, or she may only ask for a gentleman from Tellson's Bank. Please to let me know."

>> No.9483057

"Yes, sir. Tellson's Bank in London, sir?"


"Yes, sir. We have oftentimes the honour to entertain your gentlemen in their travelling backwards and forwards betwixt London and Paris, sir. A vast deal of travelling, sir, in Tellson and Company's House."

"Yes. We are quite a French House, as well as an English one."

"Yes, sir. Not much in the habit of such travelling yourself, I think, sir?"

"Not of late years. It is fifteen years since we -- since I -- came last from France."

"Indeed, sir? That was before my time here, sir. Before our people's time here, sir. The George was in other hands at that time, sir."

"I believe so."

"But I would hold a pretty wager, sir, that a House like Tellson and Company was flourishing, a matter of fifty, not to speak of fifteen years ago?"

"You might treble that, and say a hundred and fifty, yet not be far from the truth."

"Indeed, sir!"

>> No.9483132

Rounding his mouth and both his eyes, as he stepped backward from the table, the waiter shifted his napkin from his right arm to his left, dropped into a comfortable attitude, and stood surveying the guest while he ate and drank, as from an observatory or watchtower. According to the immemorial usage of waiters in all ages.

When Mr. Lorry had finished his breakfast, he went out for a stroll on the beach. The little narrow, crooked town of Dover hid itself away from the beach, and ran its head into the chalk cliffs, like a marine ostrich. The beach was a desert of heaps of sea and stones tumbling wildly about, and the sea did what it liked, and what it liked was destruction. It thundered at the town, and thundered at the cliffs, and brought the coast down, madly. The air among the houses was of so strong a piscatory flavour that one might have supposed sick fish went up to be dipped in it, as sick people went down to be dipped in the sea. A little fishing was done in the port, and a quantity of strolling about by night, and looking seaward: particularly at those times when the tide made, and was near flood. Small tradesmen, who did no business whatever, sometimes unaccountably realised large fortunes, and it was remarkable that nobody in the neighbourhood could endure a lamplighter.

As the day declined into the afternoon, and the air, which had been at intervals clear enough to allow the French coast to be seen, became again charged with mist and vapour, Mr. Lorry's thoughts seemed to cloud too. When it was dark, and he sat before the coffee-room fire, awaiting his dinner as he had awaited his breakfast, his mind was busily digging, digging, digging, in the live red coals.

>> No.9483141

A bottle of good claret after dinner does a digger in the red coals no harm, otherwise than as it has a tendency to throw him out of work. Mr. Lorry had been idle a long time, and had just poured out his last glassful of wine with as complete an appearance of satisfaction as is ever to be found in an elderly gentleman of a fresh complexion who has got to the end of a bottle, when a rattling of wheels came up the narrow street, and rumbled into the inn-yard.

He set down his glass untouched. "This is Mam'selle!" said he.

In a very few minutes the waiter came in to announce that Miss Manette had arrived from London, and would be happy to see the gentleman from Tellson's.

"So soon?"

Miss Manette had taken some refreshment on the road, and required none then, and was extremely anxious to see the gentleman from Tellson's immediately, if it suited his pleasure and convenience.

The gentleman from Tellson's had nothing left for it but to empty his glass with an air of stolid desperation, settle his odd little flaxen wig at the ears, and follow the waiter to Miss Manette's apartment. It was a large, dark room, furnished in a funereal manner with black horsehair, and loaded with heavy dark tables. These had been oiled and oiled, until the two tall candles on the table in the middle of the room were gloomily reflected on every leaf; as if they were buried, in deep graves of black mahogany, and no light to speak of could be expected from them until they were dug out.

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