In a dolphin-infested village...Kevin, after briefly considering suicide as an alternative, starts to run for his life once again. The dolphin starts to follow, making hideous dolphin noises for intimidation purposes. This makes Kevin run a bit faster - fast enough, in fact, that he manages to run clear of the village in about a minute, vaulting over a farmhouse fence, turning a corner and then bolting straight into a nearby grove of trees, disappearing from sight entirely.
After about three more solid minutes of running, Kevin is pleased to note that he doesn't appear to have any notable pursuers on his tail. The dolphin noises ceased a while ago, and now there's only the sound of crickets and miscellaneous wildlife in the thick, brambly undergrowth to keep him company as well as the occasional snapping twig and the solemn whispering of a pink cabbage nestled in one particular tree hollow.
~nicely run!~ the voice of the gub rings out once again.
~your survival is continually interesting in its mounting unlikelihood!~In a dark vertical shaft...Sigmund prepares himself for the worst as he tries to jump off his phylactery back into the large chamber.
[Agility roll: 6+1]
Concentrating on the task at hand with all his might, he flawlessly times a leap back into the chamber, landing about as perfectly as a badger ever has - definitely a 9 out of 10 at the very least. Maybe even more if he could remember the proper step one's supposed to do to demonstrate their poise and... wait, he might be forgetting something.
[Will roll: 5]
Oh dear. Phylactery's falling. Better catch it.
[Magic roll: 2]
Looking down, Sigmund sends a scoop of presence sweeping upward, hoping to seize the phylactery before it falls even further - unfortunately, he misjudges the distance a little, and narrowly misses it by sweeping the scoop too close. That's... not good at all. Fortunately, though, it looks like a very long way down, so he'll have at least another chance by his on-the-cuff calculations!
In a spinning corridor...Now appropriately stabilized,
Morton examines the door to good mage Wilma's accommodations, which appears to be very similar to his own. There is no visible latch or any other opening mechanism, so Morton supposes the brute force method will have to do.
[Strength roll: 4]
Perhaps motivated by the direness of the situation, Morton raises the door quite handily, revealing a room that is, for all intents and purposes, completely identical to his own. Within he observes none other than good mage Wilma, who appears to have made an effort to grab onto the hatch handle, only to be met with the hatch coming off similarly to how it did for Morton. Right now she appears to be curled up and trying to minimize trauma from banging against the wall, the back of her head solidly covered with her hands. One could presumably forgive her for not noticing Morton in the doorframe, preoccupied with being tossed around as she is.
In a disintegrating bit of void eel...Mark takes a moment to unstrap himself and take a dive out of the destroyed control room, shoving aside weightless debris as he shoots toward the red light, getting clear of the crap in his way without much issue. The red light, unfortunately for him, appears as distant as ever, and doesn't appear to be getting appreciably closer. Must be very far away, truly.
Much, much closer, however, and slowly approaching at that there is something else - it resembles a humanoid salamander seemingly carved of living luminescent ivory winding its way through the void, its head an odd mixture of man and amphibian, its two arms longer than the rest of its body, the fingers webbed and with what look like blunt, very fancifully curved hooks at their ends, the legs looking stunted and much more animal-like in comparison. From the way it moves, Mark can't help but think it's probably much further away than it first appears. At the moment it seems to be scanning the wreckage Mark seems to have left behind.
Atop the mysterious ruins of Eckledun's Black Tower...Scott's plan of alternating between the two methods of burnination and telekinesis seem to have worked well thus far, so why fix what isn't broken?
~Ms. Francine? do you have any power to shift the remainder of the rubble, I may have to resort to pyromancy again to keep this pink malady at bay. I think it alters the effects of magic abilities... or the nature of anything it fancies,~
he warns Francine beforehand, knowing full well the risks of burninating that which is touched by pink.
~I don't, sadly - not a mage-hand, you see. I am starting to see an appeal in controlling motion, though. Should I survive I will definitely look into it post-haste. And yes, the pink does whatever it wants, hence its undesirability in most affairs. In any case, my current tomb ought to protect me at least a bit.~[Firestarting roll: 4]
With this reassurance Scott sets fire to the layer of rocks atop Francine's place of burial, and sees them immediately catch on fire like so much dry hay, which seems like an oddly non-explosive result, occasional popping pebble notwithstanding. The large piece of rubble he couldn't move certainly burns rather well, cracking into smaller components as the flames cover it all over. Not bad at all!
In climes most far...Darren takes a moment to ponder whether inserting himself into local folklore is a good idea as he heads toward the distant woods, watching the grass slowly transition into trees and shrubs as the hour passes, until at last he finds himself faced with the slightly overgrown majesty of the woods.
"Well. Maybe I'll become some sort of folk tale. That'll make up for the eternal solitude," he says, the image of the ghosts in the City of the Dead, twisted in mind and shape from an interminable existence without any sort of purpose perhaps not as fresh upon his mind as one might hope. He moves to explore, but is suddenly distracted by a sound. A tree falling somewhere behind him.
Turning around, he notices a very peculiar thing - the path he took to get here stretches out behind him, a black and empty trail of mud. The trees and shrubs have bent over it, their leaves having fallen off and their limbs twisted oddly and covered in tumors, and one appears to have snapped in half. A bird's nest has fallen out of another, revealing a whole clutch of dead, almost unrecognizably disfigured chicks. Huh. Guess it'll be easier for him to make a name for himself than one would think.
Sometimes I wish I had any sort of reason to stop updating for a while. I just seem to neglect games spontaneously.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 564707 times)