In the Feisty Jelly...
Scott pours the tankard of the vague, vile brew referred to only as the Special down his limp esophagus and gets up, fetching Mark on the way.
"Onwards! To slaughter!"
This simultaneously makes Mark rather receptive and restless while Sigmund remains relatively unimpressed. Or so it seems.
"Don't exaggerate, we want our money back, just that."
He addresses the barkeep once more.
"We are looking specifically for someone who disguises himself as a captain to trick people. He is a red-haired short fellow, does it sound familiar to you?"
"Hey! That sounds like Rat-Bastard Gilroy! He's come 'round here once or twice, but he's mostly stinkin' up the Ulubelle these days. That's down at the trade quarter. I hear business is boomin' there. Maybe I should open up a joint like that as well. Got the money, anyway."
As Sigmund listens, his two buddies run off to the trade quarter. In the early evening bustle as more and more people come out to take advantage of the trade quarter's vast entertainment and shopping opportunities, even a bunch as weird as they becomes one with the crowd. Everybody's simply too busy to pay attention to them.
Back in the Feisty Jelly, though, an entirely different form of attention grabbing happens.
"ALL YE WHO RAISED THEIR HANDS, GRAB YER TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS! A SCAMMER SCAMMED ME FRIENDS HERE AND INADVERTENTLY EARNED THEM THE IRE OF THE BLACK CIRCLE! WE'RE GOING TO GO GET THAT STINKING BASTARD! WHO'S WITH ME?!"
The people who raised their hands nod affirmatively, getting up and loudly expressing their hatred of these lousy bastards taking all their money and giving nothing in return. Of course, some of them are talking about bankers, but Niklas figures that's close enough not to matter much.
On the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Kevin tries to get across the message that he needs story time and he needs it right now.
[Nonverbal communication roll: 2]
However, he's having trouble with the concept of a story. Namely, how to show it in an easily comprehensible way. Damn these intangible ideas that prove so difficult to convey when you start to think about it!
In the streets of Emlocke...
Darren, figuring that there's probably nothing to lose and everything to gain, heeds the dog's advice and tries prayer after clearing his throat.
"Velusius, god of... Death. Please, I call upon you. Bring me through this time of trial and give me a chance to prove your power."
Momentarily, he feels like time itself has stopped. All is still for a single moment, then it is slightly less still. As in, the ground starts to writhe beneath his feet invisibly, and he feels inexplicably drawn into it, pulled into its grasp. As he disappears into the ground, everything goes dark, and Darren experiences a very pronounced sensation of being crushed and the profound breathing instinct that had left him so long ago suddenly returns. He starts to claw randomly all around him, then remembers that he can float, and immediately tries to do so.
However, he feels totally immobilized. He feels almost... fleshlike.
~Hello, friend. I see you have a bit of trouble with your soul there. A sort of stone tied to you in this great river we call life, you might say. Well, I can help you with that, no problem. Here, let me do that right now, buddy!~
Suddenly Darren feels like a stone has been lifted from his heart. A ten-ton stone covered in poisoned spikes. He takes a long breath, feeling incredibly refreshed for a moment before the claws of the death god tighten around him once more.
~Now, you said you wanted to give you a chance to prove my power, yes? Don't bother saying so, I know you did. Now, you should know that this is not the way of the gods. Our power is absolute and it needs no proof! Your power, on the other hand, still needs to be actualized. As it is, you're a bit of a waste of space. A sort of epitome of blandness. This is a bit of a problem. I hate people like that.~
~But fret not! You can change! I'm quite sure of it, actually. That's why I, great fellow that I am, will give you a quest. A holy quest, if you will. I require you to locate and unearth the fabled Crown of Flowers, a sacred artifact that will undoubtedly make you the greatest knight of the realm and whatnot. All that good stuff. Do you accept this quest, brave sir Darren?~
As the god whispers the last three words in his mind, it breaks into uncontrollable, chilling laughter.
~Nah, only kidding. You don't get a choice on this. After all, the alternative is almost certain death, and we can't quite have that yet. I'll even send you on your way! Have fun!~
Suddenly, Darren is completely released from any sort of grasp, though something new appears in its place - once again, something Darren hasn't felt in a while.
Gravity. Though it only becomes apparent a short minute later, as something gives him a powerful push right down beforehand.
Darren plummets downward, achieving greater and greater speed. Everything gets incredibly hot very soon, and then transitions into white-hot heat unlike anything Darren has seen or felt before. He attempts to get out of the area as quickly as possible, but he realizes that his floating abilities don't seem to work at the present time. Velusius appears to be big on helplessness. So he just shuts his eyes as hard as he can, though that doesn't help much.
However, he is glad to find that it soon gets less maddeningly hot and bright. In fact, it gets cooler and darker soon. Why, eventually (about two thirds of an hour later, if he hasn't missed his mark) it's gotten downright decent. Though right as he begins to relax, he plops out of the ground, stopping mid-air! He is about to helplessly brace for impact, but then realizes that he appears to be floating again.
Huh. Well, that's done with. Now, where is he?
Looking around, Darren finds that he is in the middle of a rather cold and barren landscape. A vast plain stretches all around him, and Darren is quite glad he's the unfeeling sack of ectoplasm he is, because on a 1 to 11 scale of cold and wet misery, he'd say this ranks at about a 7. Casting a careful eye about, he sees... nothing of importance, really. Just the plain, really. Hopeless, gray plains as far as the eye can see.
Well, he could be dead, he guesses. That might be marginally worse.
Author
Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 565154 times)