In the dark woods...
Kevin, assuming all this business to be on the level for now, takes the Mantra off Patty's hands and chants the words, thinking of decent clothing with an appropriate number of pockets so that he doesn't freeze to what might be a second or perhaps third death out here in the damn woods.
The words, though not entirely distinct or constant on sight, resolve themselves perfectly in his mind, and the phrases flow from his lips entirely naturally, the alien tongue clear as day, though only three syllables of it appear to fit into Kevin's mind at any given time - the one he is pronouncing, and the ones before and after it, respectively. The rest seem to vanish from his mind almost instantly.
For a moment, Kevin feels light, then heavier - looking down for a second, he notices that he is now clothed, and rather well-clothed at that - quality finery that nevertheless seems appropriate for the road, with pockets both obvious and not lining it. As he chants further, he feels an overcoat appear around his shoulders, and fine boots upon his feet, and a warm fur hat to keep him safe from the elements materializes on his head - feeling quite snug, he stops the chant. He feels much, much better already!
"And it works!" says Patty. "Very good indeed!"
Her horse, for its part, appears to have adopted a sneering expression.
In a pinkish backyard...
Faced with out-of-place furniture-like objects, Scott gives negotiation a go. No reason why it wouldn't work, is there? Providing the table-like things with a flat, yet sufficiently specific description of Tailor Craig and his own former butler, he flits about in the air, awaiting a reply - fortunately, he needs not wait long at all.
"Gzk!" says the surface beneath him. "VESSEL DESCRIPTION MATCH. Inquire beneath LAYER OF PINK."
It says this and nothing more, bobbing on the motionless pool of pink indicatively.
In Harlan's House of Hilarity and Harlotry, crown jewel of Blynn's nightlife...
Timothy suddenly realizes he doesn't appear to have been speaking in anything that could have been loosely described as language up until now. No wonder the lady seems so amused.
"What's a nice ghoul like you doin' in a place like dis?" he attempts to say. He lacks the equipment to process exactly how well he's done, unfortunately.
"Nuffin' much," Timothy thinks is what the lady replies with. "Lookin' fer fun," she adds a moment later, pursing her lips. "Takin' a real long break!"
Inside the home of Karina...
Darren, not sure if this is normal, but guessing it isn't, tries to fill the awkward silence that's now formed between him and Karina.
"Ah! Err... That's also quite different."
The rift in Karina's flesh continues to lengthen and deepen, traveling down toward her sternum. Her hands start to twitch, and tiny swellings develop around the sides of the rift. Bugger, he'll have to do something about this.
[Telekinesis roll: 5]
Concentrating briefly, he quickly forces the rift entirely shut, pressing the edges of it together hard enough to meld them together like bits of ethereal clay. Smoothening the edge in a final stroke, he inspects his handiwork. Karina looks as good as new, if a little shaky and vacant-eyed, and maybe slightly unresponsive. A small spidery thing crawls out of one of her tear ducts, skittering down her face like a confused black tear. She looks to be inflating slowly.
Hm. Maybe he should let her rest a while. Go somewhere else for a while, and then never come back while assuming she will be perfectly all right from here on in.
In an alleyway of utmost danger...
Mark, leaving Wilma be for a few moments, searches about for anything that may prove of use in this less than logical conundrum. The alleyway, however, continues to be an infinite, pointless, empty dick to him on a personal basis, and seems to mock his efforts at locating anything of potential use. Can anything even be of potential use in this situation? What is this situation? Where is he, if anywhere? The mind boggles.
Morton continues in his efforts to help Wilma, and does a bang-up job at that.
"I don't believe that is a good sign, good mage Wilma," he says.
"I also believe that I am going to die in the next few or so minutes, good sir whatever your name was," Wilma says, tugging at her arm once again. It fails to budge. "You see, I don't want to die. I didn't become a necromancer so I could die."
She sounds a little bitter about this now.
"Perhaps it's stuck? I think I know what might help, one second..." Morton continues, and pours some perfectly warm tea he has on Wilma's arm, hoping against hope that tea has somehow become a good lubricant in the wonky physics of this alleyway. It hasn't, unfortunately, but the section of the wall it hits does appear to dissolve readily, letting the mage pull her arm out quickly. She kisses her now-free hand, evidently quite glad to have it back.
"Well! That's much better. Thank you," she says. "Now we only need to survive whatever horror is about to be visited upon us."
She looks at Morton for a moment before a tinge of worry crosses her features, something on the edge of her vision. Slowly turning her head, she looks upon the hole in the wall roughly simultaneously with Morton, who also seems to have seen the same thing.
The hole, as it were, is a complete black, nothing at all visible inside of it except a small shadow of a glint, an infinitesimal point of voracious something. Wilma tilts her head as she looks upon it, and Morton rotates back and forth, but the sight remains just as perplexing as moments ago.
"Oh dear. That looks very dangerous," the mage states the obvious.
Outside the ruins of Eckledun...
Sigmund suspects that it'd probably be healthy if he went ahead and did something about these wanton breakdowns of physics in his vicinity. But alas, the source seems unknown or at the very least extraordinarily unpleasant, so he'll have to deal with the symptom first, and address the underlying cause later. He examines a quaint little brick in a wall on one of the outlying houses, finding it very nice and bricklike, though a little bit inclined toward being a multidimensional razor blade as well in both appearance and function. Perhaps it would be good to change this misconception of the silly thing.
[Sigmund's magic roll: 2]
Sadly, its ambitions are not easily forsaken, and the brick continues to menace its surroundings with its extratemporal sharpness and Sigmund's mind with its simultaneous sentience, non-sentience and semi-sentience.
Author
Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 564425 times)