In the wilderness presumably not far from Eckledun...
Sigmund knows the best way to solve a complicated problem he can't quite wrap his head around - add more parts! More parts is more fun, as the saying goes. He focuses on a nearby pebble, willing it to become his unthinking accomplice in gruesome, blatant body theft. All it takes, obviously, is but the addition of a few more knots, plus a couple others. One really big knot, too, defining what a soul is and how to exchange the numbers and that kind of nonsense, since it seems that quite isn't defined. And finally a big ol' subordination clause knot submitting its power entirely to Sigmund, so the damn pebble doesn't get up to any funny business while its master isn't looking. And then one final addition giving it knowledge of what subordination is, when to do it and when to avoid it, a couple guidelines on self preservation, informing it that "happiness" equals "a state of mind", giving it certain moral guidelines shared with Sigmund so it doesn't become some kind of evil genie pebble, all the basic stuff.
Now, with all that done, Sigmund quickly examines his handiwork. Looks pretty brilliant, he thinks. A bit lopsided from all that stuff he added. And also a bit animate, which exacerbates the lopsidedness as the knots start spinning and swinging, the first overt indication of proper motion Sigmund has ever observed while doing this as far as he can remember, which he can't help but feel a touch perversely proud of right up until the moment the knots - all of them at once, in fact - begin to violently and spontaneously unravel, the little eddies of metaphysical twine making them up swinging about ever more chaotically, making new and interesting knots in the process. It's all very fascinating to watch, Sigmund finds, right up until the moment he notices that virtually all the living mobile things in the area have vacated the vicinity with astounding haste, and it occurs to him that maybe he'd be more worried if he could actually see what was happening about twenty meters away from him, because the knots, as far as he can tell, are just plain gibberish at the moment.
At the Mystery Forge of Castle Fenton...
Niklas is understandably quite disappointed that the smith doesn't seem about to provide him with any spontaneously created flesh puppets or reflective surfaces, and after saying some choice words to the fellow, slinks out of the Mystery Forge and into the halls of the castle, where he manages to almost avoid bumping into anyone. The person he does bump into, however, appears to be some sort of layabout knight having nothing better to do (judging by the way he's just unhurriedly walking down the hall in plate armor, helmet included) than interrupt wizard affiliates in their nightmarish business, as he sees fit to make an affair of it.
"I say," he says, "aren't you just the most unusual abomination I've ever seen!" Niklas wonders if that's smalltalk or actual alarm, but feels the need to reply regardless.
"I am a representative of-"
"-those magic circle types, right? Say no more, say no more!" the knight interrupts. "Heard you was a handsome maiden or something, but I hear those magic circle types like to be all handsome and maideny for the interviews, makes 'em all trustworthy-like, you know? Now you've got the job and all, a little variation's to be expected, izzat right?"
"Ind-"
"Quite, quite. It's a good look for ya, very alien and foreboding. Having a face that looks like it could eat another face is all fine and good in my book, prime number of limbs is also a nice touch. And inexplicable flotation's a classic. You one of them mages who does tricks of the light, or do ya actually meat-change yourself each time?"
"I-"
"Right, right, prolly should know better than to ask a lady that. Apologies and all that, I'll be running along now, then!"
And he does indeed immediately take off at a leisurely jog, clanking his way down the hall. Niklas, seemingly lacking the capacity to shrug, bobs quizzically for a moment, then gets over to Lifeboy's dorms, where Lifeboy is, strangely enough, not found for some reason. Probably gone off to do something else, having fun without his wonderful friend like the selfish little thing he might just be.
In the gutter of the dead...
Mark is knowledgeable on how to show a lady like Wilma the necromancer a wonderful time - naturally, a tavern holds the key to a proper party. Everyone's going to be invited, clearly. Doing his best to feign an inspired look on his completely deadened face, he ushers Wilma out of the gutter. The one-beast-band twitches uncertainly for a moment, but a swift poke on Mark's part returns it to a sensible state.
At any rate, they make it swiftly to the nicest tavern (inn?) in town, the Purging Crab, where, oddly enough, the first thing Mark happens to spot is two of his wonderful companions just leaving the tavern - one is a floating desk going on about tea, and the other is that fear guy who made his other friends look all funny and whatnot. How fortuitous! They are exactly who he doesn't appear to have been looking for! Better yet, they don't seem to recognize him at all, although the one-beast-band, currently unwittingly playing an improvised march from the looks of it, just as Mark intended it to do when it walks around at a steady pace, draws a curious glance from the tailor and the desk (though it's harder to tell with the desk, obviously).
In a house of complete inexplicability...
Scott, most curious about things he has no notion of, moves closer to one of the strange objects, in this case a stack of four wooden (entirely wooden - even the strings have a grainy, organic, natural look to them) guitars, arranged side-to-side, the bodies facing toward the ghost like a set of malevolent eyes. Each guitar, he notices, appears to be much larger than any of the three others, and his soul starts to hurt a little as he considers the thing for a little while longer. The slight double vision he's experiencing doesn't seem to be helping, and the fact that one of the holes in the guitars visibly blinks at him from time to time with an audible plink does his state of mind no favors, either.
In addition, Scott notes another thing about his surroundings, which is a low note seemingly sung from a very robust throat, coming from an unplaceable location and giving a very palpable evil temple ambiance to the room. There's also the fact that the only doors he can see look more like windows, which might be a little peculiar.
In the dining room of Ms. Klemm...
Kevin feels like this might be leading into a massive dose of story time if he does not inhibit himself a little.
"One of my compatriots was turned into a chair and ran away. long story I walked into a bar to search for him and a servant of said Mistress was having a drink there. Funny coincidence, really."
"That does sound rather fortuitous and greatly fascinating. Do tell me more, perhaps over another portion?"
Kevin notices that he's finished his current portion rather quickly, and also that he doesn't feel quite full yet.
At the Purging Crab...
Morton, though not entirely sure if he should trust somebody described as having an agenda of pinkness, nevertheless supposes that somebody as personable as Lawrence surely can't be that bad.
"Ah, 'agenda of pinkness', good tailor Craig? I suppose it's good for everyone to have a goal, but a curious name none the less. As for good mage Lawerence, I'm sure he's fine. We've yet to see anything overly negative come about from the portal, nor from the good aspect. Perhaps a makeover will help him achieve this personal pinkness he seeks."
"Oh, but that's the interesting thing. It's not personal pinkness he seeks, the fellow already has that down perfectly. He apparently seeks pinkness, which as far as I understand carries slightly greater implications than mere horrendous violations of aesthetics, on a wider scale. You see, he wanted the makeover to help with the task of infiltration he was evidently failing at quite badly," the tailor explains.
"Either way, I thank you for your patience, good tailor Craig, I've finished in my surprise for our more spectral members," he says, producing his tea. "I do hope they like it, I admit I'm not entirely sure what the process of enchantment may do to the taste, and I sadly lack the facilities to test. Tell me, does it taste as it should?"
Tailor Craig takes a slight sip of the tea, which Morton prepares in the cup, and after a series hms and ahs produces an answer.
"It does certainly have the quality I have come to expect of your tea, although the magic is slightly palpable. Enough to make one wonder, I think, but not quite enough to provoke suspicion of evil sorcery, which is a good balance for magic to have. Good job, fine fellow!"
Heartened by this, Morton suggests they seek the others, and Tailor Craig agrees that this is an absolutely splendid idea. Together the two leave the Purging Crab, and immediately come face to face with what look to be two and a half approaching patrons accompanied by strange music. Two are blissfully humanoid, fortunately. One is a very colorfully dressed pretty, young, largely expressionless woman with blond hair, a flute and two pouches, one ink-stained, the other bloodstained, side by side on her belt, the other is a slightly older, jovial woman with her hair dyed a very intense, rather shiny gold color, and wearing a bright red robe with a single large golden flower embroidered on the front. Next to these two shambles a relatively small creature, all joints, limbs, odd pipes and sinew strings, creating mildly unsettling marching music. It appears to have a bit of a tendency to wander off, only for the younger woman to guide it back on the path by way of unsubtle poking with her foot. Something about the creature seems familiar. The slowly drying blood, the extremely fresh nature of its components, the unusual appropriation of flesh. Hm.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 563884 times)