In the spidery depths where no human eye dare look...Kevin knows that he is pretty much screwed right about now, and his entrails are probably going to be liquefied and devoured by ravenous creatures that know nothing other than ceaseless violence, killing and crimes against conventional morality. And also seedy flirtation tactics, but Kevin's zoology knowledge is hardly even half of what is required to know about any of that. He is in dire straits, surely, so that leaves but one last resort, one that no man or woman of adventure would choose unless the situation were hopeless indeed.
That last resort is diplomacy. Arachnid diplomacy, conducted purely through what Kevin assumes to be spider noises. He commences this immediately as he regains control of his face, chittering away at the darkness surrounding him.
[Kevin's diplomacy roll: 4]
Chittering does not provide him with much attention or any response, so he stops soon enough. He moves on to buzzing sounds, then smacks his lips in a vain attempt to imitate the graceful movements of chelicerae. This is similarly useless. So the last thing he tries is squeaking - he squeaks loudly and powerfully, and this causes a stir. Immediately something very tiny begins to move toward him, intrigued by the sudden fluctuation of the air. Soundlessly it taps toward the ex-jester, finding him immobile and utterly helpless. It crawls atop his chest, interested in the source of the squeak.
Atop the dreaded Mystery Forge of Castle Fenton...Niklas cannot, will not accept defeat at the hands of this terrible forge. It must not be allowed to triumph over him, for that would mean submitting to something he hasn't even fought. Not a very Northern thing to do, obviously.
"Unpredictable is my middle name!" he declares before diving back into the Mystery Forge unimpeded and unabated, focusing on the image of a bearsharksquid of some description.
[Mystery roll: ?, ?, ?]
He emerges seemingly moments later, filled with an ineffable sense of wonder, though why that would be, he cannot see. His helmet is still vaguely helmet-shaped, though rather rough to the touch and with a few oddly-placed teeth. Hm, he proclaims! Hm! This science thing he's doing may indeed be paying off, he considers while feeling its texture with one of his furry, toothy facetacles.
In addition, that rather gooey ham in his hands seems to be looking pretty tasty right about now.
"Fair maiden, I dare say you are starting to get it right!" the smith triumphantly says, making Niklas' heart go aflutter for a moment. He's lucky he doesn't seem able to blush anymore, he thinks.
"Indeed you are, Niklas, indeed you are," Helsvar notes, immediately suppressing the urge Niklas has to express his joy with a quivering of the facetacles instead.
"I would implore you to stop, ma'am!" the maid says, looking quite alarmed.
"What's happening to you is becoming a mite disturbing!" "Nonsense! She's about to get properly into it!" the smith laughs.
In the idyllic countryside surrounding the Sea of Death...Sigmund figures he could probably use magic to make sure he actually is free rather than merely deposited in some other horrifying alternative for death. Not that freedom isn't one of those necessarily, but he's not one to knock being able to choose one's means of attaining oblivion, even in the most uninformed and random of ways.
[Sigmund's magic roll: 2]
Try as he might, though, the porthole he envisions for his magical focus does not seem likely to materialize in the immediate future, not least of all because he can't seem to wrap his head around how exactly he's supposed to impact something with itself. Magic would be the obvious answer, but he's had the terrible misfortune of obtaining the exact sort of magic where not knowing what in gods' names he's doing is a completely untenable state of affairs. So he remains blind, trapped and butchered into very tiny pieces, and perhaps it's better he does not open up an avenue through which this rather safe and comfortable state may be averted.
In the Black Tower of Eckledun...Morton tries to push on with his agenda in spite of the rather unfortunate bureaucratic reallocation of Mothdale's populace - hope's not lost until he sees them all burn in the great pyres of the Black Circle, as a popular saying around here goes.
"It was too much of me to expect the refugees weren't already squared away. If I may ask, good mage Susanne, could I inquire as to where the refugees are going, and if there will be a potential peace between good group Gub and those around Mothdale? It would sadden me if he were driven out or harmed simply because he lacks understanding and perspective of others. I just fear that those I may bring to help aid Mothdale might be for naught. I'm afraid many were hurt during Mothdale's unfortunate destruction by whoever did such a thing, you can feel it just by being there and seeing the destruction, seeing what was. Until the destruction is repaired, I don't believe the wound will heal. One cannot heal a burn without the proper treatment," he tells Suzanne, hoping for some sympathy for the plight of the common folk unknowing in the ways of mind-controlling creatures from beyond human understanding.
"Eh, they'll be fine," Suzanne waves off his concern.
"Most of them will be set up as retainers of five different Black Towers, and maybe a few of the really sickly or injured ones will be turned into ghosts for further work. Nothing too horrible, by and large. A lot of the people hurt are probably either dead or belong to the Gub, in which case all their worries are likely to be in the past," she points out.
"I would welcome any assistance in helping the situation and my task that you may offer. But I'm afraid I must also request another question: what happened in Mothdale? I've seen holes bored into walls, buildings licked by flames, and destroyed structures, and now the city controlled by good group Gub. I admit to knowing little to go upon except that it was a group of some sort," Morton continues, changing the subject a little as he considers the implications of somebody being turned into a ghost before becoming a retainer of the Black Circle.
"I wouldn't be the one to ask, really. You'd be better off asking-" she begins, looking around, but finding nobody. At this moment Morton becomes aware that the whip man's disappeared someplace along with Lindsay and Jay. Strange.
"Huh. Where'd they run off to? Quite impolite of them, really."In a capsule beyond the reach of man and woman alike...Scott has no regrets. He needs to explode right out of this prison. A little pain is nothing. He's been in so much pain over his unlife that it hardly matters at all anymore. It's more likely that being alone is what'll get him eventually, all things considered.
"So did losing my corporeal body... all things are relative. Let 'er rip."~Here goes!~Scott suddenly finds himself at the foot of the Black Tower of Eckledun, this time at the outer steel door. The dog is still here, examining him critically, looking a little bit like a military officer of some sort with the fur across its snout resembling a mustache.
In the depths of the engineer tombs of the City of the Dead...Darren attempts to keep up the smalltalk with the obviously strange ghost before him.
"Must have been hard. Any advice for a starting ghost?"The ghost turns toward him rather quickly, the entirety of its being staring into his soul for a second before it suddenly appears to liquefy, its previous image turning into that of a rather regular-looking old man in a tan robe, vaguely transparent and with a faint corona of white light surrounding his body.
"Ventriloquism is more useful than you'd think," he says after a moment of thought.
"Also, learn to shapeshift."A moment passes as he examines Darren.
"What did you want, anyway?"And we're back. Wonder if the player base still exists?
This looks fun. When it comes back, can I join?
It's just your luck that you can... well, join the waitlist, that is. Luckily, it looks bigger than it is, considering that I'm positive that a few of the people listed within aren't likely to respond when I PM them. Not as many as there tend to be in the Forgotten Art, but many nevertheless. You're guaranteed to get in at the final chapter, whenever that arrives, if that's any consolation even if you don't get in at the next chapter break.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 563849 times)