In the underground depths filled with gnomish darkness...Kevin decides to try and find a hard place to complement this beautiful rock he seems to have blundered into through no fault of his own, and finds, much to his pleasure, that there is one readily available - a wall, quite slimy, yet also somewhat crunchy to the touch, smelling very metallic and leaving some sort of unseen residue on his fingers as they run over its uneven surface. Kevin wonders if this is really the best wall to prop oneself up against, but the lack of any visible, audible or otherwise perceptible alternatives persuades him that he should indeed count his blessings. He throws his full weight against the wall, hoping that it will guard him from any insidious back attacks.
Regrettably, it does not! Instead, it merely crumples inward, and Kevin begins to slowly roll through its internals, his body weight evidently doing a number on the structural integrity of whatever the hell this thing really is. Just how low it extends, Kevin does not really know! He merely rolls with it, so to speak. He notices that the sound of the clicking and clacking seems to be slowly fading away! And then returning! And then fading away!
In the hands of what are presumably gnomes...Sigmund may be captured by mysterious creatures, but he is not bothered! He knows what a proper spelunker does when in the belly of the beast (not literally this time, though) - goes limp and tries to ascertain more information about his surroundings, most notably these gnomes!
The next few minutes pass as he quickly looks over the knots of the gnomes, idly reading the serial numbers of their souls and the 'no fun permitted' clauses attached. Shockingly, he finds them to be thoroughly unenchanted, and the knot not particularly unlike that of a random schmuck you'd see on the street, although their limbs certainly are much better armored and sharper, as evidenced when Sigmund tries to move, inadvertently or not. In addition, these gnomes appear to be quite naked, wearing absolutely no clothing or other items that he can observe on their persons. He notices, rather oddly, that their touch feels a little familiar, though he can't quite place it at the moment.
After a good twenty minutes or so of being carried both in a vaguely curved and occasionally downward fashion, Sigmund is deposited on an oddly comfortable little pedestal - it feels almost upholstered, as a matter of fact. And then the sounds of the area go completely silent as the gnomes carrying him quickly retreat, leaving him quite alone in what feels like a fairly small room. Sigmund still can't see anything, and the knots, while giving him a general sense of where things may be, are hardly helpful in identifying things to any degree more than whether they are enchanted and whether they are living.
Almost as an afterthought, one gnome quickly shuffles up to Sigmund, placing what feels like a heavy stone bowl filled with some kind of very aromatic liquid on his stomach, where it causes a bit of discomfort in addition to stirring his senses a tad.
In the inbound teleporters' room...Niklas, knowing that first impressions are very important, tries to be as professional as possible.
"Ambassadors from the Red Tower of Power, known more formally as..." he says, nudging Lifeboy to complete the sentence like a proper assistant should.
"... the Third Tower of the Black Circle, Dominion of the Mistress of Shapers!" Lifeboy says evenly and with an air of practice.
"Ah. Of course," the man says, putting his hands behind his back.
"I better show you to the king, then."A hole opens in the glass wall around the two arrivals, and the man motions them to follow along. Once they exit, they notice that this whole place seems to be very nicely ordered - boxes with barely legible labels line virtually every wall outside the enclosure, each glowing with a peculiar light. One such box seems to have been unfolded in a corner, revealing some kind of strange, obviously magical measuring instrument, though what purpose it serves is not immediately evident. Nor do they have a whole lot of time to examine the contents of the area, as the baby-faced fellow leads them out without much ceremony, through a very unadorned, though fastidiously clean hallway, past a set of rather large doors and into what looks like a fairly lush little parlor, where a rough man sits in his nightshirt and nightcap, reading a book far more rapidly than should theoretically be possible. Next to him appears to be a concerned, nearly skeletal man, currently standing up and tweaking his nose while simultaneously biting his lip. It seems to all be part of a concentrated effort not to nod off, judging from the way he seems to be slouching despite himself.
"My lord, the ambassadors of the Black Circle have arrived," the rather obvious wizard that led the two here says. The concerned man perks up immediately, regarding the arrivals mutely, his eyes wide. The man in the nightshirt, evidently the king, looks up after putting the book, which on closer inspection may in fact be a ledger, off to the side. His face is a bit odd, though Niklas doesn't exactly know why. His eyes are a radiant, piercing green, both of which are epithets one normally wouldn't associate with green eyes.
"Finally," the king says.
"It's so difficult to get recognition these days, isn't it?"He gets up and shakes his head, crossing his arms as he examines the two. The baby-faced wizard bows, and Lifeboy nudges Niklas to do the same. Ever the mannerly one, Niklas obliges the king.
"They're from the Third Tower, sir, and they came via teleport.""Third Tower? Was hoping for the Seventh myself, but what can you do. So, ambassador people, before you stands His Majesty Fintel, Lord Protector of the Fifty Fiefs of Farning-Fenton. Or something of that sort, anyway. What have you two to say for yourselves, then?" he asks.
"Or should I just have Numbers here show you to your quarters?""Your Majesty, why-" the concerned man begins to ask, but the king cuts him off.
"Because I get the feeling you'd make a better chambermaid than an accountant, Numbers, judging from these ledgers," the king says, giving Numbers a very displeased glare. Numbers takes a step back, looking rather crushed by this criticism and possibly on the verge of tears.
"Such a mean man he is! I'm sure Numbers did his best!""Shush, Torkel. Don't question the jarl.""Least of all when the jarl is irritable. Irritable jarls give quests when pleased, and order executions when not."On the road to nowhere...Figuring there is no way around it and meeting no protest on that front, the ragtag group of misfits conform to
Morton's suggestion to head through the wilderness, though they found Morton's estimate of a few hours of walking at best overly optimistic and at worst critically delusional. But no better options are available, and so they shuffle off in a southward direction without much fuss.
The wilderness, fortunately, isn't much trouble, given how none of the travelers are properly physically human and three of them can float freely while Tailor Craig seems to be able to do a sort of gliding walk. The forest definitely notices their passing, though, given how even the most courageous of animals seem to be rapidly vacating the area the four move through. The place is almost eerily silent as they move through, and before long darkness begins to fall on the woods.
"Well, I guess it was a bit more than a few hours after all. Not that it matters," Tailor Craig remarks.
"It's still the best way," Justine says with certainty, having gone through the alternatives with her power, no doubt.
After dark, they keep moving, having no reason to rest, and eventually come into a clearing, where the group spies a man, a handsome youth garbed in black livery, hair carefully braided, with a mandolin clutched in one hand, a black rose in the other. The youth immediately notes their approach, staring at them wildly.
"You have come!" he says, grinning widely, stepping toward the arrivals and offering the black rose to them as he bows.
"It's one of those people," Justine remarks under her breath.
In the company of Lenny the concerned Circle representative...Timothy, close friend of mortal peril and the first man to vouch that it's really not so bad once you get to know it, though that may be because he really has no problem being dead to begin with, unlike some of these uptight living people. Guess he's just a blithe spirit like that.
"Where is dis an-molly thing?" he asks bravely, not looking overly bothered by all of these dire warnings.
"It's... well, it's the nearest pillar of pink light you can reach from the city. But seriously, you want to think twice, no, three times before you even consider going that way. Physics stop working there. More so than usual. I'm not sure it's even possible to map those things. At least not accurately," Lenny replies.
"I can... take you there, I guess, or at least to the nearby observation tower, but... I'm telling you, it's not something people expect you to come back from. People send you there so that they never hear from you again, in fact."He looks pretty bothered, Timothy notices.
So, I'm properly back and settling into the routine as well as quickly relearning to touch type. Time for some answers!
What's the name of the Tower of Power?
That was answered this very update. But to be precise, it is actually called the Red Tower of Power informally, the Third Tower of the Black Circle formally. And also by other names, such as the Tower by locals and Ingrate City by members of the Second Tower, which in turn is dubbed the Abyss by its residents and the Asshole of the World by members of the Third Tower.
How old is Lifeboy?
Seventeen.
Are the voices in Niklas' head the actual people or just signs of his insanity?
I plead the narrative fifth on this one.
Does that barbarian region I described to Torkel actually exist now that I have? Would I be able to go there, supposing I was allowed to by my new boss?
Anything you care to describe exists in some form or fashion - how much its real, current image is like one's memories, personal impressions or imaginings can vary.
How much does Fat Candance weigh?
About two hundred standard kilos, though her weak legs could carry only fifty.
Have a nice holiday. (I presume.)
You presumed incorrectly, but it was fun nevertheless. Thank you.
What would Melville have said if pressed on what she was truly sad about? (Guessing this may be possibly plot-y though)
It is slightly plotty, but I'll tell you nevertheless - that her husband failed, rather than that he died. She hadn't really seen him in the past hundred years or so, and written communication between them has been... well, a bit less enjoyable than it could be for certain reasons.
How/what is the disposition of the various NPCs in the group to the various PCs?
None of them like you very much, with the possible exception of Art, who's more chill about these things, and Tailor Craig, who's an okay sort of guy. Erin's not currently in the group, but she's also not negatively disposed toward most of the PCs. The Artiste tries to be as nice and supportive of his minions as he can, as he's pretty sure that's how decent relationships are built, though he does get frustrated with the way his plans go awry occasionally. The Captain likes the group quite a lot, since they are people he can impress and tell stories to.
Nobody likes Scott much apart from the Captain, it presumably need not be said.
Will the talking ship make another appearance?
Yes.
How is the toymaker doing?
Currently fighting off a pretty mean infection. It's not looking good, sadly, since he is quite old. His grandchildren, who are visiting, are concerned for his well-being and wondering where they'll get the money to hold a funeral should he not pull through. The Temple of Narcillicus might help, but it's a bit awkward to rely on their charity, even with how respected Stuart is among their number.
What was up with the strange man trying to magically change Morton?
He is an infidel. Fortunately, he still has not managed to successfully bypass the wall of his jail cell, and is currently wondering if he shouldn't try to bargain with the jailor instead.
Will we see the rubber dragon/wyvern again?
Definitely. And not just because you reminded me that it exists.
What is the total damage of the fungal infestation left at old Yaleson Manor?
Rising quickly. Fruiting bodies are increasing in size, and their spores are spreading. Many townsfolk are falling mysteriously ill. Mages of the Black Circle have been called in to investigate in the wake of the passing of the local magistrate, and they have noticed the rather out of control infestation in short order. Samples have been taken and a concerted effort from a team of lifemages and energy manipulators is currently underway to purify the area.
Where did the guards that stole Niklas' knives and beat almost everyone up go?
Mothdale. The gub have found their minds most useful.
Exactly how horribly terrible at geography is Morton on a scale of "I believe the top of the world must be very hot, being so close to the sun so, it must be all desert," to "Oh, you won't find any forests here past the mountains, they block the humid wind and the rain it brings from the shores from reaching this far inland."
About as terrible as you'd expect the average late magical medieval man from a country village without noble education to be. Most of what he knows about geography is gossip that's traveled its way to him. Geldholm, for example, is the place where all those people are buried somewhere down south to him.
What happened to Bernie's sister? Will she show her face again?
If you find her, maybe. Odds are against it, however.
Whipman showed superhuman levels of endurance, breaking his neck and limbs and still fighting admirably. Is he a regular human whose prowess is attributable only to his good dice rolls? Or is there an in-plot reason for his awesomeness?
Mostly a lot of sixes and the fact that he's a bit of a monster hunter. Now, though, he's become abnormal in new and interesting ways that I will not bother to detail at the moment.
What happened to our old (demonically enhanced) bodies? Is there a chance to get them back?
They are currently being poked by inquisitive and bored dolphins who are considering defiling them for fun and profit. They are indecisive on whether it would not be better to snack on some tumorfish instead. The possibility of them being returned to your possession hinges on which particular dolphin vice eventually wins out.
Who made the scary-crows?
Some idiot who thought it'd be a good idea to give a bird deterrent/practice dummy a soul. He, along with his family of six, was burned inside his own home on the eve of the Great Revolution that continues to this very day in many locations across the continent of Arland.
What was that guy with the pink demon-dog working on before I blew him up?
Controlled destabilizers of teleportation equipment. In his mind he pictured ludicrous gibs and mass panic. Possibly a cascade of pink if all went well. His dog would have liked that, no doubt. But fate intervened, sadly.
What was the name/description of the demon my soul's bound to, at the moment? I kinda forgot.
The Demon of Love, a rather popular demon among desperately lonely, poorly-adjusted and terribly unwise, or just very confused mages.
Is Timothy currently on the same continent as Hansel and Bob?
Yes. Not too far from them, in fact. Not exactly within spitting distance, obviously, but less than two hundred miles away for sure.
Author
Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 564927 times)