In a waiting room in the Black Tower of Eckledun...Morton decides, against his animal instincts of flight and diplomacy, to be as affable as he can toward these people - no doubt they'll respond with the same.
"We fare quite wonderfully, good mage Susanne, and thank you for the gracious and speedy welcome. Formal greetings are quite in order I believe, I am Carter Morton, albeit most simply call me Morton, and this is my good friend, good tailor Craig. I do hope we aren't too much of a bother on your schedule.""Very pleased to meet all of you.""In all honesty, Carter, you shouldn't worry. Today, you basically are our schedule, if that makes sense."It sort of does, but that does not make the remark sound less ominous. The whip man appears to be eying Morton, stroking his chin and sniffing the air thoughtfully.
"As for the quest, marvelously considering the present circumstances. Before we perhaps get down to business -- as they say -- about Mothdale, I'd like to invite everyone here to a bit of tea, I brewed it myself not too long ago. I believe I should have enough for everyone. It's the least I can do to repay your attention."And thus he serves tea - the whip man is the first to take a sip. It's a good, long sip.
"Yum," he says, narrowing his eyes at Morton.
The others seem quite pleased with it as well, though they say nothing, merely making animal noises of approval. Morton quickly apologizes to Jay and Lindsay.
"I'm terribly sorry our conversation is cut short, and it is a pleasure to meet the both of you. I do hope we can continue it afterwords; I don't wish to take up to much of good mage Susanne's time when others could be waiting.""Oh, it's no trouble at all. There's not much business we had here in the first place.""Though I suppose we'll stick around in any case.""Well then!" Susanne sort of interjects.
"You have business here. Shall we get to discussing, then? There's the Not-So-Free City of Gub, and you need people there. Mages, to be specific. We can help, of course, and I believe you'd be interested."At the smithy of Castle Fenton...Niklas, considering that his loyal lady love has the privilege of hearing his every thought, or at least he thinks that might be the case, tries to assuage her no doubt very overt suspicions.
~Helsvar, I'd like you to know that I will always be loyal to you, and that any untoward actions on my part are not mine, but the result of the uterus devils infesting this body's bowels climbing up into my head.~"Strange how I have never had that problem, isn't it, my love?""Tee-hee, Dad has funny feelings deep inside!"He tries to compose himself despite this lack of faith in the existence of uterus devils, which are surely to blame. He only succeeds in getting his palms to start sweating.
"Smithman! I have an important... proposition," he says, inhaling deeply as his heart starts to beat faster, producing the ham and showing it to the breathtakingly beautiful man. His face immediately becomes quite grim, and Niklas' heart sinks a little, but he continues, albeit a little shakily.
"Are you skilled enough to put this image on a helmet and leave the scariness in? I need a war helmet. I think I lost my previous one to some sort of fish. Or something. Anyhow, can you do it?""I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience do that, milady," he explains slowly.
"It goes against my creed to reproduce things of beauty. It cheapens their appeal, and the visage of this ham is far too beautiful in its impermanence. It will soon be eaten, no doubt, and if not, it will decompose, losing its original shape. But it will remain in the memory of the ones who have seen it. And from there, the memories will grow and transcend the physical limitations of the medium. To make an imitation of this ham would be to deprive it of its true potential for horror, and I can't bring myself to do such a thing, sad as it may make me to decline. But tell me, who was the artisan who shaped this ham? It would be most interesting to speak with him, I think."Outside the Black Tower of Eckledun...Scott, though not rich in time at the moment, nevertheless decides to go with what social custom dictates he should do. And that is to politely request entry.
"Ahem. May I come in?" he asks, and the dog merely replies with a bark, then begins to pant. Its eyes are still judging.
In the grasp of spiders in the dark...Kevin decides that he does not wish to be captured by spiders and have his insides liquefied, then eaten, and so he tries with all his might to bite the spiders carrying him!
[Kevin vs. Spider 1: 3-
2 vs. 1]
He then almost immediately discovers that chitin is tougher than he thought it was, even when in such miniscule quantities as spiders possess it. It's like trying to bite through a centimeter of leather, he discovers. The spiders are a bit spooked by this, but move along with his body anyway, dragging him into the rather unsafe-feeling cracks. He is dragged for a good five minutes before he is allowed to settle in a certain place, at which point the spiders bite him several times, anesthetically neutralizing basically any muscle movements on his part. And then, in a move you'd entirely expect from your average spider, they immediately begin to fight from the sound of it.
At that moment, the sounds of intense, sustained fumbling around of eight-legged creatures fill the area where Kevin is deposited - Kevin quickly comes to the conclusion that spiders probably can't fight each other that well. Especially if they're the same species. But they are animalistic machines that exist only to murder, so what else are they going to do? In the next few minutes there's chittering, jumping sounds, legs rubbing up against one another, fangs swinging around and missing, pedipalps clashing, chelicerae spurting venom, that sort of thing. Then a sudden high-pitched screech and the sound of something getting crushed. The noises become less audible, and there's a sound of legs tapping against the stony surroundings, growing more distant. And then, only one spider begins to drag Kevin off again - he's still entirely numb, but one guesses he could still get out of it. Somehow.
In a secluded subterranean chamber...Sigmund, in no rush whatsover, wonders how much force is needed to push him upward. Locked in a box and not very educated on these matters, the best he can provide is a ballpark estimate. And if he had to guess, it's not at all a matter of "how much force", but really kind of an issue of "how to displace", in which case the answer is a definite "slowly". He needs actual compacted material to fill the area beneath him, so that when he moves his presence he doesn't run the risk of falling down, but scooping that much rock up without making the place cave in on him may be difficult - the obvious answer is to scoop from some distance away. And then, once everything's pushed over here, though not to a degree where it crushes him, then he might be able to make a pillar up to where he wants to be.
Simple hypothetically, of course, but Sigmund has not let that stop him in the past.
At a strange pit of some sort...Darren, for fear of accumulating yet more friends on his body, decides to ask a question.
"Uh, are-are you guys also going to hug me?"Some of the faces begin to shake vigorously. Some begin to go in circles. Darren guesses that's a no, and decides to proceed - though in this case, he finds himself inexorably drawn to the bottom of the pit. He moves closer and closer, and something becomes increasingly visible on the pedestal - a wreath of sorts, green and full of life, although seemingly coated in a layer of glowing ectoplasm, giving it a strange sheen, then encased in a greater sphere of glass set into a very predatory-looking claw. And around it floats a ghost - over two meters tall and recognizably human, although there seems to be something peculiar about him. It's unplaceable, really - there's something up with his balding scalp, his darting eyes, his rather muscular frame, his flowing robe. A distinct aura of unnaturalness, one might say, though its exact nature is elusive.
Judging from the rather obvious importance of the pedestal, Darren would guess that's the Crown of Flowers. Though who the man is, he cannot say. Before he can really devote it much thought, the man looks at him, his eyes seemingly swimming freely around his face, altering their position to view Darren from as many perspectives and angles as possible, though he says nothing.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 556538 times)