In the mean streets of Shriekpot...Scott, wandering the streets in the early morning as the sun still refuses to rise, goes into the Feisty Jelly to look for any ragamuffins to question about affiliations with the guards of the infamous Ulubelle.
Sadly, the place is rather empty. Whatever drunks were here previously are now either dead, at home or carried off somewhere they will hopefully stink less. The inside of the tavern is completely desolate, and a feeling of profound loneliness assaults Scott as not even the barkeep seems to be around. At least, that's what he can tell from the window. The door is rather locked currently.
At Tailor Craig's traveling clothing enterprise...Sigmund wholeheartedly supports the idea of Craig finding the Artiste.
"Of course there wouldn't be any problem with you doing that. He is actually in a human body. Well, I have never seen it myself in another body, but the member of our group that has spent more time with him probably has. But I'm afraid that he must be sleeping now, so it would be better if we don't bother him now. Well, at least that is my opinion. Maybe, meanwhile, I can get another test subject for you.""A human body? Demons don't do that. At least, they're not known to. But I can certainly wait, yes. Particularly if you bring test subjects.""What do you think, Morton?"Morton, consulted awfully often for somebody who is a desk, gladly provides his opinion.
"Hm... yes, I suppose you're correct, good Sir Sigmund, he would probably be asleep by now. But yes, he is indeed inhabiting a human body although he mentions that it was a rather recent event however. Considered himself a.. a... 'logisitics... person?' Quartermaster perhaps? Accountant? I can't quite recall his direct wording, I'm afraid." "This is getting stranger and stranger."He attempts to shrug, but only manages a peculiar wobble.
"If you wish to aid good tailor Craig, I will attempt to help you in your endeavor, although I'm afraid I'm not sure what presentable aid I might be able to render beyond conversation."Sigmund looks Morton over to gauge his usefulness in finding schmucks to send into alternate dimensions. Moments later, he arrives at a conclusion.
"Maybe you can wait here while I get another test subject? Tricking someone into doing something that can turn you into a desk would be difficult. I know of someone who will surely be bored by this time, maybe I can convince him. May I take your fire-making device? It's because I may need it and, well, your current state doesn't allow you to use it."Morton, certainly understanding of such a viewpoint, agrees.
"Of course, it isn't a problem, good Sir Sigmund. Although I do hope to deal with that issue eventually."He then opens up one of his drawers, allowing Sigmund to retrieve the wonderful magical fire creation device. Without a word, the now-fabulous vampire heads off, possessed with purpose to such a degree that even crossroads do not faze him much. In due time, he has reached Brenwicke's Books. The place seems to be locked up currently. Guess they don't open for a few more hours. Sigmund can't see the guards, either.
Elsewhere in Shriekpot...Niklas, rather terribly hurt by now, tries to stand up! He can't, unfortunately, at least not properly. So he just tries to roll in the direction of the sea.
[Movement roll: 4-2]
He slowly rolls in the direction of the sea, not getting very far before another volley of arrows! Once again, five of them hit, one misses, though they don't get anything Niklas particularly needs at this point.
[Movement roll: 4-2]
Slow, slow progress once more. Also, two arrows fly at his head, two hit him in other places, two just miss terribly.
[Niklas endurance rolls: 1+
1, 4+1]
One of the arrows aimed at his head pierces his skull rather handily while the other is turned aside by the fierce-looking helmet!
[Niklas will roll: 3]
This, naturally, feels terrible. And he's still on fire. Extremely so. This, however, is secondary to the fact that his helmet now has a large hole in it.
On the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...Mark, dissatisfied at the lack of any usable bonfires on the deck of this fine vessel, goes down to Erin's quarters. Ah, she's asleep. Well, no matter. He decides to write out his message on the inside of her door.
Dear Transmuter,
I would really appreciate it if there was a bit of the deck made of stone so that I could make a bonfire on it for my dastardly rituals of soul sacrificing. Could you make something like that?
Love, Mark.It's even in a nice shade of luminescent light red that nicely contrasts with the black door. With that done, Mark gets out of Erin's dwelling, making sure to quietly close the door behind him, and thinks of what to do next.
Kevin, meanwhile, looks for something interesting to do in town. He wanders off in a random direction, completely missing the arrow-riddled zombie on fire slowly rolling toward the water not fifty meters away. He does locate a desk! A rather nice desk, he must say. Next to it stands a rather unusual-looking man with a donkey that seems to be carrying a load of colorful fabrics.
In the Tomb of Everything...Darren wishes to know more about how to loot these catacombs for fun and profit, seeing how he is kind of a divine-sponsored adventurer now.
"And what if I brought some things back? How do you pay people who loot the catacombs?""I'm the only one who does it after my parents and every other scavenger died. So nobody really asks me that, to be honest. I really would prefer if you did not steal anything from there, but you're a ghost. How would I stop you? How would I pay you, and how would you carry things around, anyway?"((I've recently started reading The Colour of Magic, and it kinda reminded me of your writing style, Harry.))
Probably because Discworld is an inspiration for my writing at the very least and probably one of the primary influences for this universe, at least what I've read of it so far.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 565616 times)