Next to a highway of some kind...Mark quickly scampers back to the group and informs them of the existence of the nearby highway!
[Nonverbal communication roll: 5]
"Ah, a highway? Well, lead the way, minion."Mark, appropriately prompted, does as he is told and takes the people to the highway, getting there soon enough.
"Civilization! Great! So, which way do we need to go?"The Artiste looks both ways, then looks at a nearby signpost that says "SHRIEKPOT - THAT-A-WAY" with a handy arrow pointing westward.
"Hm, Shriekpot. That's a port town, right?""Shriekpot? Dunno. Might have been.""Probably some hellhole.""Well, maybe it's near some water. And that's all we really need, isn't it?""Not exactly, but we cannot be very picky about the location.""Well, let's go, then!"The Artiste waves his arms in one direction. Nothing at all happens.
"I probably should have practiced more. Hm. Maybe it wasn't expressive enough?"He waves his arms slightly more expressively, adding a silly grimace to seal the deal! Something happens! The air shifts and twists in the direction of Shriekpot, then the Artiste steps into it, disappearing from sight immediately. The other mages follow suit, getting right in. Mark shrugs and gets in as well.
After all, you only live twice.
End of Chapter 4!Congratulations on weathering the persistent abuse that keeps on giving supplied by yet another chapter of Life Begins At Death! For your luck and persistent refusal to die, have a choice of three perks!
Mark:
Surgery Enthusiast,
Attack of Inspiration,
True Disbeliever.
Darren:
Animate Construct,
Ethereal Warmup,
The Whistling Ghost Blues.
Timothy and
Vincent have been mostly or entirely absent for the chapter, so they get moved to Cold Storage, getting nothing, unfortunately.
Choose your perks wisely!
Chapter 5The Path Of DreamsAs night falls once again at the end of another short winter day, the mighty highway that passes Shriekpot is mostly empty. Built once upon a time by the order of an enterprising noble as a means of stimulating trade in the region, the highway, though still kept in meticulously good condition, has nonetheless failed to fulfill its purpose, though one can hardly blame the honest, hardworking engineers for that. In truth, the highway is mostly deserted because it only stretches for about 100 miles, from Shriekpot to the Blacklands, and that is a bit of a problem, as the Blacklands have the unfortunate habit of getting blasted into virtual nonexistence once in about five to fifteen years as a result of the shenanigans of the Black Circle of Magic. Due to this, the highway sees little traffic, and Shriekpot is mostly isolated from any land-based trade as a direct result.
However, the highway is slightly more populated than usual today. That is to say that one person seems to be quite intent on traversing it, walking at a brisk pace directly toward the unfortunate region known as the Blacklands. He is not dissuaded by the fact that it's probably exploded. He wants to get away, preferably as far as possible. To the ends of the earth, perhaps. That might be a good place for him. Sufficiently dramatic for his type, at any rate. Why, he-
Say, what was that?
"Maybe we didn't get as close to Shriekpot as I may have liked, but a good walk's never hurt anybody. And it's less conspicuous this way."Oh my. There's a whole entourage of mages walking toward him. That's bad news if he's seen any.
"Less conspicuous than leaving a tunnel of warped space that offers instantaneous travel in the middle of a highway?"Wait, is that a tree walking with them?
"Oh, nobody's going to notice. This road's deserted from the looks of... say, would you look at that!"Crap. Just turn around and-
"Ho there, traveler! How do you fare this fine day?"The cloaked man turns to the five people and their... yeah, that's a tree. Mounted on a skeleton, no less. It is doubtless that he is dealing with a pack of weirdos.
"I-""That's fantastic! You look like somebody who knows a thing or two about the area.""Well-"The man snaps his fingers, causing the distinct sensation of several flaming lashes streaking across the man's soul.
"Your soul is now mine. Fun, no? Let's lay down the rules, now.""Wha-""I order you to never harm me or any of my minions. Secondly, I order you to never kill yourself. And... well, that's it, really. I just need minions for this, nothing personal, really. What's your name, by the way?""S-s-s... Sigmund. Sigmund GrimDrake.""How dramatic!""Probably an actor of some kind.""Yeah, thespians always take on weird pseudonyms.""He's certainly pale enough to work in the theater business. They must save a fortune on powder with someone like him around.""Yeah, just imagine. I was to a play once, you wouldn't believe..."They proceed to make inane conversation as the leader orders Sigmund to follow closely in the procession, showing absolutely no interest in who he is or why he's here.
"It's getting dark, so I suppose we should be getting to shelter. Say... Sigmund, would you happen to know any nearby houses we could visit?"Sigmund does recall one place. It was a strange house, but a reasonable enough place to stay, he supposes. Though the smell from it certainly wasn't welcoming. He relates this information to the mage, who listens intently.
"Then to this house we will go. Lead on!"Under Sigmund's guidance, they reach the house after about an hour. Strangely enough, it seems to smell even worse this time around. Sigmund hardly thought it possible, to be honest. The group heads over to the door, the leader knocking twice on the door. The door soon opens after the sound of rapid shuffling from inside, and the visage of a heavily burned, visibly festering man dressed in strange finery appears in front of the door.
"Hello. Is there something you wish from Mr. Yaleson?""Yes, we require shelter for the night, and your house, vile-smelling though it may be, seems to be the only candidate.""Oh. I'm sorry for the smell, we ran out of perfume some weeks ago and Mr. Yaleson has been in no condition to allow us to leave the house. Do come in."The burned zombie leads the party into the house, a rather decrepit two-story affair with a spiral staircase. The stench within is almost unbearable. Looking around, Sigmund can see several things. Firstly, a skeleton garbed in colorful tattered rags seems to be practicing some sort of routine in an adjoining room all on his own. However, this is hardly as disturbing as the sight in the kitchen, which features a large table with a slain boar lying on top of it. Right next to it is a man in a mild state of decomposition wearing a somewhat scary-looking steel helmet that covers his entire head and face (as far as Sigmund can see, the man is completely naked otherwise) currently busying himself with the furious sharpening of a wicked meat cleaver and a guttural rendition of some kind of foreign war song.
"Wait here, I will go and see the master."Meanwhile, on the top floor, a man by the name of
Scott Yaleson stands next to the bed of his longtime husband, Gary. His husband's skin seems to be covered in knotted bumps and pustules, of which some pop on occasion, spilling a considerable amount of pus and who knows what else on the bed he lays in, now mostly composed of filth, Scott would say. Oh, Gary. Why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't you let go?
Gary looks at his husband lovingly, though his gaze looks to be quite foggy by now. Judging by the way he shivers, he must be quite feverish by now. Gary tries to outstretch his arm toward the love of his life, but can't seem to muster the strength anymore. Scott shudders to think what will happen when he draws his last breath. Will they all - he, Morton, Niklas, the jester - just die from the binding? Wonder if it will hurt.
Suddenly, there is a knock on the door.
"Mr. Yaleson? Scott? We have guests."Morton. And guests. How unusual.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 562479 times)