At the Feisty Jelly...
Scott is disappointed. And when Scott becomes disappointed, bad things happen. He tries to light his firebomb. Fortunately, his skill in wilderness survival, what little he has, helps him out quite a bit. Soon he's got a perfectly respectable lit firebomb, which he chucks at a window.
The firebomb doesn't break the window. It does land next to the wooden wall, though, starting a small fire.
[Fire control roll: 3]
It's spreading, too. Slowly, but surely. Scott finds himself encouraging the little brave flame to go! It can go for the big leagues, it can achieve something special, he thinks. All it needs is to try. But now, Scott will leave the cute little thing. He proceeds to the trade district, looking for willing scum to question there.
Fortunately, there's a solitary fella standing right outside the Ulubelle, looking at the carnage within incredulously! He'll probably know something.
At Brenwicke's Books...
Sigmund, supposing that the goons Brenwicke has got protecting his holdings can't be far, looks around for them. After looking around the store and seeing nothing, he is about to go look for other drunks, but then he has an idea. He goes up to the house opposite the bookstore and knocks on the door.
And lo, the quiet guard opens the door. He appears to be snacking on some nice-looking bread currently and looking at Sigmund questioningly. He looks completely unfazed by Sigmund's appearance.
On the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Mark, figuring there's nothing better to do right now, goes back on the deck to enjoy the morning and absorb the positive energies of the sun rising.
But wait! What light from yonder side street breaks? It is the west, and Niklas is the sun! Niklas, wherefore art thou on fire? And wherefore art thou pierced by more than a dozen arrows?
And wherefore art thou trying to extinguish yourself with your bearskin cloak most fine, which also is on fire? It doesn't look very effective, Mark thinks.
[Niklas movement roll: 6-2]
And where dost thine survival instinct spring from, beautiful as it is in its splendor as thou rollest screaming toward the harbor?
"I AM NOT A RAIDER! I AM NOT A RAIDER! I AM NOT A RAIDER!"
Thou wouldst be certainly a most unusual, if not entirely ineffective raider, sir Niklas, were thou rolling in any other direction but that of the cold sea. And what's this? Thou rollest toward Mark? Thou seekest help, perhaps?
[Niklas will roll: 5]
Oh, the sheer tragedy of the rolling man on fire! It is-
Wait, he's still being shot at. That arrow just went through his abdomen. Shit, better help or something. Otherwise Mark's reputation as a helpful minion will be tarnished.
At Tailor Craig's traveling garment enterprise...
Morton, observing the approaching Kevin, speaks up! It's only polite to let someone know if you've been turned into furniture by some ultimately positive and life-altering happenstance.
"Oh, good Jester Kevin, its you! Greetings and salutations, a pleasure to see you again. ... Ah, yes, I have found myself to have become a desk, but at least I'm not indecent anymore."
Kevin judges this to be patently ludicrous, though that's possibly more out of hopefulness that things like that don't happen to people in this universe just like that. Sadly, Morton has to disappoint him.
"Ah, I'm afraid this is no jest, good Jester Kevin, but indeed the truth as strange as it is. In a strange realm of multiple-hued colors and strange talking figments of mauve, I have been transformed into a desk. I can still move and speak, see and hear as you can tell."
He moves his drawers randomly, thus eliminating any possible explanations for this predicament other than the fact that it is exactly how it appears. Well, that and poltergeists at work.
"This here is good Tailor Craig, good Tailor Craig, this is my friend and compatriot good Jester Kevin. Good Tailor Craig aided me in my time of desperate need brought about by... Indecency, however such resulted sadly in my current form. Demons are fickle things, I suppose."
Kevin, utterly convinced, shrugs. Tailor Craig utilizes the momentary lull in conversation to step in.
"Well, I'm certainly... um... pleased to meet you, Jester Kevin. Which face do I address, if I may... no, wait, that's a silly thing to ask. Don't answer that. Tell me, though, how would you like to become fabulous?"
That's an interesting offer. Kevin hasn't been offered a chance to become fabulous in many years now.
In the Tomb of Everything...
Darren shrugs at the girl's questions.
"Well, magic, I guess. Also, is there any way to recognize the more dangerous ghosts?"
The girl giggles at the question.
"Oh, you'll recognize them easily. Normal ghosts look normal. Like people, you know. Crazy ghosts, they change. They don't look like normal people. Especially crazy ghosts don't look like people at all. But those are easy to see coming. The ones that aren't, like my parents, for instance, there you have to be real careful. They look like they used to in life, you know, maybe sans a limb or two, with a grievous wound or something, that sort of thing. But when you look carefully, you notice something's... off. Something inhuman about them. Maybe the eyes. Maybe the way they shift around. Maybe they lick their lips when you turn your back. Maybe they cast a shadow, and not like a person would, but all creepy-like. Lastly, maybe their head splits open and the brain flies out at you. Happened once to me, was the freakiest thing ever. So glad I dodged it. But anyway, hatch is over there," the girl says, pointing to a solid steel lid with some elaborate lifting mechanism fitted to it.
"Don't have to open it for you, do I? It takes long. Any more questions?"
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 565628 times)