In the crew quarters of the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Sigmund takes a moment to voice this suspicion he has to Kevin.
"Erin was at the den, and knowing Morton, he must be talking with her. He is quite talkative to be a butler, in fact."
"Alright then," the jester answers, and they both head down to the den, where they confirm that both Erin and Morton are indeed still there. How wonderful. Morton seems to be talking to her.
"I'd be willing to help perhaps talk Master Artiste into allowing Chef Niklas at least those, for what the help would be worth. Perhaps we can reason with him, yes? I agree that the punishment is harsh, if we allow Master Artiste to regain his composure from the decision, then he may be allowing for revision."
"Well, if ya back me up, I'll go and ask him. Shall we?"
They look to be plotting something. Something related to their favorite chef, it seems.
Speaking of our favorite chef, Niklas keeps on trying to work with the meditative state he is in. He shall drop his choppety-chopping tool, the noble cleaver, and revel in the nothingness!
[Meditation roll: 1]
Wait, how can he drop himself? He doesn't have any hands. Or a way to lose himself properly. After all, he kinda knows where he is at any given time. Sorta.
And what just poked him? Damn it, you shouldn't poke chairs without warning! Honestly, this meditation junk is getting infuriating. He knows he isn't a cleaver. He doesn't even know what being a cleaver might feel like, and all this roleplaying is driving him nuts here!
In Karina's home...
Darren frowns at the insinuation that he wouldn't be a supreme archmage if only he had been sent to the University of Magic in a timely fashion. Then he thinks about it for a moment and the pessimism that prevented him from being sent to study magery in the first place sets in.
"Well... yeah."
Something does occur to him. He leans toward Karina once more.
"What do you mean know it now? You met a magician before?"
Karina hesitates a little, but relents and begins to explain.
"Not a magician, a mage. I've known a few, though not very well. Well, aside from... this guy. My ex-fiance. He did life magic, and he was sorta good at it, but..."
She stops mid-sentence, a bit distressed by the subject.
"Listen, I'd really rather not talk about him. It was a bit of a traumatizing experience."
On the deck of the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Scott decides to extend a veiled invitation to Humongous Hugh.
"Aye, you staying for the party? I did promise you a share of the booze."
"Dreadfully sorry, but I realize I really can't. I remembered I have an engagement this evening, and I prefer to do my work sober."
He thinks for a moment, then fetches a bottle from one of his oversized pockets.
"I will take a bottle of that Special, though. Helps in my line of work more than a pair of broken legs and repeated defenestration sometimes," he continues, opening the barrel of vile pseudo-beer and filling the bottle with the liquid. The air fills with the stench of the brew, and the smell of dead fish and salty air mix with the affront to human decency rather well.
"Anyhow, pleasure doing business, and pleasure meeting your fellows, but I really must go. See you!"
And with that, he leaves.
In the streets of Shriekpot...
Mark, realizing his chances of escape are slim, submits and follows the sergeant to his lawful place of imprisonment, taking notes on the environment as he does. He eventually comes to a rather fortified stone building. He is led inside, completely disarmed and relieved of his possessions by helpful officers, and shooed into a cell which is immediately locked.
"Now, you just wait there while you are processed. Might take a while, so you may have some literature for your trouble," the sergeant explains from outside the cell. "Any requests? We have several cheap romance novels on hand."
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 563681 times)