At the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
As the singing continues unabated, Sigmund explains that the jolly group of misfits might have to wait for a while before anything particularly interesting happens.
"He is still asleep, I'm sorry to waste your time. And who is this good fellow right here?"
The man with the bandaged chest turns to Sigmund in a rather polite fashion.
"Red-Chested Elron at your service. I came here at the bidding of a man with a womanly jaw and a harpoon. He said I would get paid, but I suspect he may have been untruthful. Speaking of getting paid, do you have anything that needs doing, perhaps? I can do a wide variety of things, starting with the obtaining of things and ending with the convenient losing of things. And everything in between those two activities."
Suddenly Morton decides to pipe up at last, having found that this man probably isn't working with the abnormal furniture removal service.
"Ah, Master Artiste is asleep, is he? He did comment about how he liked such, I recall."
Red-Chested Elron looks at the desk impassively for a moment, then shrugs.
"Although I must wonder... What is that noise? I can't quite place it... Is it singing perhaps? At this hour?"
"Guess somebody is a real morning person around here."
"Oh, I'm being rude, excuse me, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir," Morton says to Red-Chested Elron. "I do hope the bandages don't hide injury though, do they? I wish you the best in that it heals well."
"Oh, those? I'll need those for quite a while. Got a lot of burns in that area. Gift from a wandering asshole mage."
"My, that's certainly terrible. My condolences."
"Eh, they hardly hurt anymore. Not so bothersome these days. Still can't afford to go to a lifemage to fix me, though."
As they converse, Mark discreetly passes them by, heading off into town nonchalantly past the strange-looking unfamiliar vagrants (including a talking desk) at the gangplank to look for somebody useful in his quest to fix and improve the fragile structures of life.
After quite a while of searching, he locates somebody.
Hey, it's that guy from before! Scrawny layabout man! He appears to have walked into an alleyway. What a silly guy.
In the ghostly catacombs...
Darren, instead of doing anything rash, pokes his head through the nasty-looking steel door.
On the other side of it he sees an interesting scene. A room filled with bits of rock and rotten, broken bits of wood and glass. It looks a bit like a living room in shape if not in color. There currently appears to be a woman within, or rather a ghost of one, concentrating on moving the remnants of what may have once been a chair. As Darren looks at her, she immediately turns to him.
"Oh my, a visitor!" she exclaims, quickly looking about the room for anything that urgently needs addressing, and, having found nothing, composing herself.
"Welcome to my home, sir. How can I help you?"
At Purple Pete Petersen's place...
Scott, not pleased at the mental density of this town's inhabitants, explains what he means, slowly this time.
"... I would like to talk to you. It may save your life."
"It'll have to wait, buddy - got business! Can't stick around and chat. Bye!" he says, and there is the sound of a wooden door shutting.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 562836 times)