Outside the ruins of Eckledun...
Sigmund, faced with imminent collapse of the rules of reality and good sense, panics immediately. He tries to pull his feet out of the ground before it becomes abundantly clear that it's a little difficult to pull all four of your feet from the ground at once. He then tries to pull one leg out - it comes loose, but the other three immediately sink deeper. There is a feeling of volatility to his imprisonment. His body is vibrating. He puts the foot on a nearby bit of seemingly solid ground, and is delighted to see it hold decently well. He tries to get the rest of himself out by the same method, but the violent increase of vibration due to the attempt quickly dissuades him from continuing this plan.
There's clearly something wrong here, Sigmund thinks, something wrong with the very fabric of reality. So he, being in the enviable position to actually check, does so without hesitation. The resulting picture is... unfortunate, in that he can't quite tell what's happening. His knots seem less like knots and more like... fluff, he supposes. This is probably a bad sign, he thinks as he moves on to his other plan - shifting the rock under his feet.
[Sigmund's magic roll: 2]
It seems a bit odd that it doesn't seem to work at all, not least of all because there's no rock under Sigmund's feet. It's more like soil, really. Furthermore, his feet haven't really sunk into the ground, they've phased into it. And he gets the feeling disturbing this careful balance of impossibility may end incredibly poorly. Though right now he's not quite rich in other options, either.
In the woods outside Eckledun...
Scott approaches the pillar, and is disappointed that there don't seem to be any visible cultists nearby, despite it clearly being used for human sacrifice. Maybe these aren't their operating hours. He can't see any paths leading toward here, either - the forest is otherwise just about the closest thing to primordial that one could think of. So their operating hours are likely to be a pretty narrow interval of time, too, Scott concludes. And there's probably not many of them, either.
Perhaps they live underground? Maybe there's a rabbit hole nearby he could follow down into a realm of savage butchery and devil worship? There'd no doubt be a place for him there, presumably as a god of some sort. Or maybe just a saint?
There does seem to be a hole here, as a side note. It's not a bottomless-seeming one, though, and seems to have the character of a grave or some other variety of corpse pit. Its bottom is stained with blood.
Next to a threatening yard full of pink...
Mark and Morton spring to action, with the former trying to plot a more optimal path around the yard, while the latter tests the lily pads.
Mark, for his part, quickly concludes that the safest way (relatively speaking) is probably out the way they came - since that weird thing didn't try to follow them in here, it's reasonably safe to assume it's lost the scent to some degree.
Morton, working slightly more diligently, tries to chuck a pebble onto one of the wooden lily pads. It fails to react much. He then dislodges and throws a cobblestone, which responds by bouncing up from the pad in a most satisfying fashion. The lily pad does not sink into the pond one bit, however. Puzzled, Morton moves out of the alleyway and successfully confirms that no monsters are presently after him and his friends, and also that they'd probably be able to find a much better dark alleyway to skulk into if given time and a slight bit of effort.
Wilma, finally, decides to do something a bit more radical. She takes a running jump at one of the lily pads.
[Wilma's strength roll: 3]
The jump is a bit short - she lands halfway on a lily pad, her feet accidentally sinking into the pond. The lily pad bounces her right back, and she tumbles to the ground right next to Mark in a painful-looking fashion. She seems suspiciously fine given that her feet were just submerged in what Mark assumes to be liquid madness itself.
"It was definitely worth a try," Wilma assures herself as she lays on the ground, her nice robe slightly messed up now. After sighing, she gets up and dusts herself off. "Honestly, I think it's worth another one."
At the door of Edgar Montark...
Kevin tries his best to relay the exact speech and mannerisms of the repugnantly hostile villagers.
""I bet it was that witch on the hill who destroyed the bridge!" and "We should look out for any foreigners that could've helped her" style of thing. Needless to say, I didn't exactly feel like staying there," he explains, and Edgar nods along.
"They tried this before," he says. "Tried this before, and it didn't end well, not one bit. Only the priest got away looking the same. Doesn't look like they learned."
Locals who never learn are shockingly common, especially on timescales expected of an immortal. They replenish themselves and hand themselves to people like Kevin, so that she may take their souls with practically guiltless impunity and put them to better use. All that is needed is the occasional atrocity or oddity committed by his hand, and they come in force. At least the first two times - when the third point of crisis comes along, they prefer to scatter. This is even better for harvesting, as it makes the entire village fair game. She has wondered occasionally if this could somehow be spun into a form of farming, or would a cult be better for this sort of thing...?
"E-erm, miss?" the man interrupts Kevin's thoughts. Kevin gives him an inquisitive look. "Where are you from?"
It seems like a simple enough question, though Kevin can think of at least a few probably displeasing answers.
In the chambers of King Fintel...
Niklas resigns himself hopelessly to inevitable doom, though he does feel the need to supplement it with a ridiculous act of some kind.
"No, and I doubt I will until it starts to happen," he assures the king, attempting to figure out a method to cook the universe. He concentrates his godlike powers, and brings the surrounding area to a steady boil, the king excepted.
"Would you object to being boiled?" he asks of the king, feeling a terrible lack of harmony stemming from the monarch's stupendous lack of bubbling.
"Of course not, if it's for a good cause," the king says, and Niklas includes him in the boiling as well. The air ripples, and the room feels stiflingly hot. "Do note that this isn't quite as real as you would think, this momentary godlike power." A connection is made. Niklas' body shivers involuntarily as something ineffable begins to prod him. "I was playing around with the amulet's settings a little, fine-tuning it, and this appears to be the result. Seems unnecessary, and it needs me to pull the switch. I think it was better when I first made it. No dithering of this sort at all. So, in the spirit of fairness during this little experiment, I will be generous. You have, let's say, two seconds left to use well. But that really is going to be it. Starting... now."
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 565345 times)