In the den of the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Niklas, hoping to finally improve his rather terrible meditation experience, envisions that helpful butler guy coming along and cleaning up in that awful mess he calls a mind with a feather duster.
[Meditation roll: 2]
Sadly, he cannot think of a single reasonable way a feather duster could possibly help with cleaning up unfortunate sedimentation. As such, the butler is utterly confused and leaves momentarily. Damn it all!
In the den of the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Sigmund, realizing his error, relents from his furniture-hauling intentions and asks where the hell he's supposed to be going, anyway.
"Oh, excuse me. So, we should go then. Any ideas about the whereabouts of our master?"
"Indeed, no reason to do further work, yes? I don't believe Chef Niklas will be going anywhere anytime soon in his current disposition. I'm ready if you are, good Mage Erin. I'm not sure where Master Artiste is however, I'd guess his room perhaps? I do thank you for your offered help, good Sir Sigmund, with the three of us I believe Master Artiste will surely listen to reason." Morton adds.
Erin, meanwhile, considers the question.
"Well, I've been feelin' unusually secure lately - that means the tailor guy's not nearby. Maybe topside someplace?" she says, then heads off to the deck. Morton and Sigmund follow along, supposing her sense of direction and navigation is as good as any. Getting out on the deck, they are struck by an unusual stench, which seems to be coming from a barrel of what Sigmund recognizes as the Special. Oh dear. And Art seems to be in the middle of getting persuaded to drink from it.
"Looks like the big guy ain't here. Captain's quarters, then," Erin says, mostly unfazed by the sight and smell of the area. She heads up the small stairs to the captain's quarters, from which the sound of friendly conversation emanates. Erin cautiously opens the door.
Ah, looks like the Artiste is telling Tailor Craig something.
"-and you see, while I'm not sure what exactly this navigational tool might be used for, I am quite confident that it is utilized for navigation."
"Makes sense, I suppose."
"Uh, excuse me, but can I talk to ya, boss?"
"Not now, Erin. In a couple of minutes."
"Well, okay," Erin says, shutting the door. "He said to wait a couple minutes," she tells Sigmund and Morton. Just then, Kevin also arrives, walking up to the door to the captain's quarters as the first party loaf around for the moment. When Kevin knocks on the door, he is also met with the same reaction from the Artiste, and promptly joins the waiting people.
Luckily, they are provided with some entertainment in this time as they watch Scott's attempts to make Art drink some of that Special.
"Unfortunately that is the perplexing part of the brew, the vapor is one of the deadliest poisons, but the drink can cure all known ailments. The book I got the recipe from some years ago cost my husband quite a few sacks of gold, but he never regretted the purchase. For as you well know, many poisons can be found in the flesh and talons of undead," he boldly and blatantly fabricates on the spot, utterly failing to produce a glass from nowhere.
Art looks at Scott with a critical eye.
"I suppose I could try it. After all, you wouldn't try to kill me, would you? You're kind of bound to avoid that. On purpose, anyway."
He walks up to the barrel, covering up his face with a sleeve, his eyes watering a little as he takes out a rather exquisite metal mug from his robe, with the word "LINDENBERG" engraved on it. He fills it with the brew, then starts drinking.
[Art endurance roll: 6]
His eyes widen as he swallows the stuff. After a moment, he shrugs.
"It doesn't taste as bad as it smells, to be honest. How could it, really?"
He takes a moment to confirm his olfactory judgment.
"This stuff reminds me of something, actually," he says, taking another swig. "In a good way, too."
The necromancer chugs down the entire contents of the mug, then refills it.
"Pretty good. I can barely smell the booze anymore. Not very alcoholic, though. I normally prefer grain alcohol, though this is a rather welcome difference. Thanks, buddy," he says, sitting down on one of the non-booze barrels on deck and quietly enjoying his drink. Scott wagers he's a few people short of a proper party, but upon looking around he notices that there appear to be several potential volunteers around, most notably the transmuter.
In Karina's home...
Darren, ever the optimist, does not lament the severe memory loss he seems to be experiencing. Amnesia is the best way to reinvent oneself, after all.
"Ah, yeah... there's an issue with that. I really can't remember precisely what my family was like."
"That is worrying. I mean, to forget your own family. And the strangest thing is, I kind of can't remember mine, either. I sort of recall a face here, a memory there, but the bulk of it is kinda gone for some reason."
She taps her finger against her chin.
"Bit weird, isn't it?"
Author
Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 563695 times)