In a potter's shop...
Scott, having successfully infiltrated the lair of the elusive clay pots, looks for some small jars for his purposes.
Though there are indeed some clay jars of an appropriate size around, they lack any muslin cloth. Possibly because muslin cloth is viewed in some parts of the world as heresy, not to mention too much of a fire hazard to leave just lying about. These jars have nice lids, though, and there's a set of four displayed in the main room of the store.
At Joyous Hanford's Emporium of Biological Wonders...
Mark, looking over the interesting decor of the place, flattens the Metatablet and begins to trace his needs on it.
Let's see... he needed something to write with, surgical tools, restraints and a bad attitude. The surgical tools he has already obtained, and a bad attitude he has never lost. So that leaves a writing implement and restraints. He writes the requests down, noting how the bits where he places the finger bulge suddenly, the spot filling with blood to the point of almost bursting. After the creepy-looking text is finished, Mark shows it to Joyous Hanford.
"Hm, restraints are what you want? And a writing implement? Well, those are easy!"
He plunges his hand into one of the walls and the entire store suddenly spasms, but then the shopkeeper whispers something gently to the wall while caressing it with his other hand, and the room slowly relaxes. In moments, the man produces a handful of what look like strange leeches. Most are blood red, two are putrid green. The two latter ones are also far larger than the others.
"The small red ones in my hand, those are Special Writing Companions, and they produce a substance so closely resembling ink, you will never want to question its true nature! Depending on how much blood you feed them, the more the better, naturally, the ink can even become more magically effective - perfect for spellbooks, charms and curses! Tried and true thesis, and I should know. I made several flesh-bound spellbooks with these cute little fellows. I will part with one of these fine little children for five coppers, because the magicality of the ink may open new horizons for any that grow to experience its power. Alternately, if you need something for communication purposes, you may purchase the Informative Metatablet for only 20 coppers!"
"As for our large and green friends, they are known as Happy-Happies. They're extremely fun for both pranks and when you really want that test subject to stand still - attach the Happy-Happy to an area around a major blood vessel and you are in business! The Happy-Happy, you see, introduces his own brand of chemicals into the subject's bloodstream that prevent them from feeling anything but abject bliss and contentment even as he gorges himself on their delicious blood, though it's in reasonable quantities, naturally. Don't want your subject expiring, after all. You don't even need straps for a patient if you've got the Happy-Happy - most people will simply lie about without a thought in their minds, not a single thought of resistance! Only 25 coppers for this beauty, or a gold coin if you're a high roller! Or if these two offers do not pique your interest, I have other, more expensive alternatives for both self-enhancement and achieving other goals! You see, I like to think of this as a pet store of sorts, except far more useful. And cuter too! Yes, you are!"
As he tickles one of the Happy-Happies and makes cooing noises, Mark considers the offer.
On the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Kevin, hoping and praying that he is at last safe, looks for Erin. Fortunately, she's still here, working at the ship's design. In fact, she looks to be considering her next move. No time like the present. He runs up to Erin, but hears the voice of the Artiste before he can do much of anything.
"Skeletal fellow! Kevin! I have sixty bolts that appear to be addressed to you with love from our dear friend Sigmund!"
Ooh, bolts. And no hands to properly load them into his crossbow.
In the kitchen of the shrieking ship...
Deeper within the ship, Sigmund is carving plans for further testing as Morton dabbles in alchemy.
"If we are going to experiment with this mushroom, we are going to need more of it, and I know how to make more. But I'm going to need a safe place where the mushroom can live without killing everybody. We can't die, but, as Mark got infected with this, the Artiste ordered him to stay at a prudent distance from him, as our master and the mages are vulnerable to its spores."
He considers a mental list of safe places that he can think of, and only one place springs to mind.
"I suppose that, as the Yaleson house is not occupied now we can use it to experiment there. Would you go with me?"
"A sensible suggestion, Sir Sigmund, if we have more of the paste we can reattempt. Just give me a moment to pack everything up, if you would," he says, placing the dry ice back into the cleverly-labeled ICEBOX, then putting away his direly troubling mixtures. Placing all the stuff he actually wants to keep in the backpack, including the pot of possibly-necrotizing sandwich spread, which he wisely covers before putting it in his to-be-used-later goods section. He also dumps the result of the cooling gone awry into what looks like a disposal hole, making sure that any poor soul trying to eat it at this point would probably deserve what they get anyway.
"Right, ready when you are, Sir Sigmund. If we're going for that trip, might it not be best to go find some of the wild variety however? We could do both however, thinking on it."
"Don't worry, with that thing you have to light fires, it will be enough. This mushroom grows really fast."
Morton leads the way as they pass through the halls of the ship, which still look a bit strange with the luminescent streaks along the walls..
"So, Sir Sigmund... you mentioned that you couldn't die? How is that, are you not unlike the mages? You still seem alive by all counts, although those arms were a dreadful sight... Although, I wouldn't quite say I can't die good sir, I'd wager I'm still very much mortal, if just a bit hardier than I used to be in the ring of shrugging off one's mortal coil."
"I thought that you were already aware of what I am because of my pale skin and my fear of the sun. I'm a vampire, Morton. I'm as undead as you, excluding the rotting part. When I mentioned that I can't die, I just meant that my soul won't leave my body if my lungs explode, as I need them as much as you do. I don't think that there is such things as immortal beings in this world, besides the Five, and the demons. I've been discussing with the Artiste about if he can die, and the truth is that he indeed does. But, with the difference of us, his soul will not go to the Afterlife, and we will be tied to him until he agrees to set us free."
"A vampire, you say? I'm afraid I can't say I'm much familiar with those, outside of knowing of them. Yes, you do quite have a point, I doubt losing some lungs would do much to kill us, although I've the feeling fire or cranial blows might be of a different story, at least going by tales you hear. What's it like being a vampire, Sir Sigmund? As glamorous as I've heard?"
Ah, the classic question.
"Does being a bloodsucking parasite seem glamorous to you? Does being unable to withstand direct sunlight seem glamorous? I don't know where you heard that, but, actually, it's quite pathetic. But it's actually more pathetic that there are vampires who actually think to be cool to drink other people's blood. I have avoided it when possible. After all, blood seems to be an abundant byproduct of slaughterhouses, and my former masters could acquire it without issues."
Silly blood-superstition always ticks Sigmund off. He's had blood. It's not that good. And not like he needs it. Particularly human blood. Why, the very thought is repulsive. He can't even remember if he's ever had any in his unlife.
"I'm afraid not, Sir Sigmund, that does indeed sound rather dreadful. But it must not be entirely horrible, can it? You do not rot, and you're even passable as alive, I didn't recognize you as a fellow second-chancer. One must always look to the bright side when they can, I believe, no matter how horrible the chips may be down."
They would converse more, but they have reached the deck. And the broken visage of Kevin.
"Oh dear! Good Jester Kevin, what happened to you? Do you require aid- of course you do, let me help you stand. Sir Sigmund, please help us find good Mage Erin, she should be able to fix him up."
He looks over to his left, seeing Erin right next to him. Perhaps it was a bit too early to involve Sir Sigmund in this.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 557467 times)