Charles feels well-equipped for a challenge as mundane as digging himself out of a pile of loose dentures, only to immediately be faced with the enormity of such a task for a pig with only two legs to work with, and with the mass bearing down on him, who happens to be somewhere between the size of an actual pig and a mere piglet. Curse his insufficient strength! Is his quest over as soon as it began? Squealing for help, but muffled by all the false teeth, his struggles grow increasingly desperate and violent, but no progress seems to be made - indeed, he just seems to be tiring himself out. Need a better plan. Fast.
Some distance away,
John, quite unaware of anything at all being amiss, takes the plunge and just wolfs down the entirety of the ounce bag he just got, getting a good feel for the mostly spherical shape, rough, papery texture and completely awful taste of the contents. Billy Ray watches in amazement as the man manages to stuff the entirety of it down his throat without even so much as a drink of water. John does feel like he's going to vomit profusely immediately afterwards, but that's hardly unusual.
"Hardcore, man. Want some cough syrup to wash that down?" he asks, flashing a friendly-colored bottle from his pocket.
* * * * *
Joel, correct beyond his years, comes up with a perfectly rational explanation for all this nonsense (golden dogs notwithstanding) and skims the first page of his book in practically the same smug motion. The first page seems to be titled
The First Temptation of Eadar by P.T. Kerning, and has the publishing date and Gnome Press written on it. Skipping over that, he comes to the actual first page of the book, which seems to be something about a guy chatting to his buddies about whatever. Seems legit enough. He takes the page and lights it after bumming a lighter from the other guys. The page catches fire just like before...
[Joel's mind roll: 6-->3-1]
... though the flame looks weirder. For one, it's not a natural orange anymore. Instead, it's a weird, flickering, starry blackness engulfing the page, spreading across it, running over his hand, darting right over his torso and passing straight into his eyes in the blink of an eye, and then all becomes redefined.
Sitting on the plastic throne, Joel Cooper takes a long drag from his cigarette as his eyes wander across the temple of the machine god before him, trembling with processing power unheard of in computing history. It took a while for its circuits to warm up, its multitude of lit panels to begin displaying disturbingly accurate readings of his life signs and general shape and its tapes to get up to a good spin, almost enough to make Cooper wonder if it's for any particular reason they don't turn it on in anticipation of the appointment. They probably do it for effect, he decides. As soon as the blasted thing seems content at a steady pace of blinking, electric noise and rhythmic low jangling, Cooper stands up, gesturing with his cigarette out of habit. This was an important matter, after all. It had to be, or you didn't bring it here. The cycles used were worth the machine's weight in gold, something Cooper's employer made darn sure to remind him of.
His mouth begins to move, his mind about to recall the exact phrasing he had clearly devised and prepared the previous night. Can't waste time. It occurred to him in this split second that that's why they made him sit through the initialization sequence. Make him waste time. Cost his boss a bundle. He didn't have a strong enough bond with the man for this revelation to matter. He began to ask his question, only to be abruptly cut off, the machine already having decided on its best guess on what he was going to ask based on sheer extrapolation and proceeding with a short explanation. It probably had more information than him, Cooper thought as the voice of the machine, severe, quick, metallic, yet unsettlingly humanlike, began to answer.
At first, hearing the machine say its piece, Cooper was surprised. It took a moment for it to click. It wasn't the answer to the question he was going to ask. But it was the answer he was looking for nevertheless. A group of bland-faced techs wandered in and politely escorted him out of the room, saying his time was up. Stunned, Cooper did not resist more than a token amount.
1. Thought of Indestructible Cicadas
2. Fuse Mafiosi
and there it is. take what you will.
The cascade of more paper-lighting continues, as
Tiana takes her lighter back from Joel and lights her own page, reveling in the comfort of the flame.
[Tiana's mind roll: 1-->1+1]
... the crystals whisper secrets into the ears of the masterful practitioner, the crystallokinetic mastermind.
You, for you have found this page, hidden from all but the most powerful of minds. Take the crystal into your hand. Put it to your temple. Push it gently. Does it go in?
I see it does go in. Good. Nudge it deeper... deeper... yes, you are making good progress. Can you hear them yet? They come slowly at first, then retreat like waves.
The first sign is a slight ringing. Keep pushing it in. Gently, softly. The voices are coming now, aren't they? I can sense it in your bones. Resonance.
Let the calm darkness wash over you. Listen to the voices.
Perhaps you will even awaken later.1. Ghostify Toothpick
2. Evoke Filthy Paracetamol
3. Bless Hooker
4. Goodify Gnome
Important note, it hurts less the next time one does it, if there is a next time. For now, however, accept this offering of four spells in full.
, intrigued if not quite amused, tries another page. There's a wide world of otherworldly sensation to explore, and it seems like everybody's doing it. So no sense in any trepidation!
[Roger's mind roll: 4]
She was cheap. She smelled like smoke, and her home was a perpetual mess. She had a whole lot of brothers and sisters, each more hideous than the last, and one of whom had introduced Roger to her with a gleam in his eye. She barely knew any French, let alone English, not that she needed to. At times she had an off-putting amount of sweat and dust on her, with a slight hint of blood that made Roger wonder what else it was she did with her life, aside from keep appointments with a few of his friends that he knew of, and probably some that he didn't. She was slight, and clearly wasn't in the habit of eating very well. But she was nimble. A good listener, with an infectious laugh at oddly appropriate times. But most of all, she seemed exceptionally good, beyond anybody he'd ever known, at pretending, even if for only 30 minutes at a time, that she well and truly loved him. Maybe she even did, the thought had even snuck into Roger's mind at times. That's how good she was. Almost enough to make him wonder, to make him forget for an instant. It was a strange feeling, this freedom from past and future, a lightness he only barely could remember, so alien it was. Even now, lying down beneath the stars, it was only starting to come back in fragments. Just there beyond the edge of thought, almost close enough to grasp fully, to consider an existence within the gaping void that constituted his life... perhaps not a happy one, but not insufferable, and almost definitely better than he deserved.
1. Form Cloud of Melting Pycnogonids
2. Concentrate Cyclopropane
Roger... I am glad to see you are finding a place for yourself at last... take a spell, in memory of days gone by...
, having drunk sufficiently of the well of power, puts his first talent to use.
[Samson's affinity roll: 4+1]
It takes no thought, this movement. Indeed, the lack of thought may be the entire point. Instinct, this seems to be important. His body orients in its most natural way as his mind considers the spell, and all it takes is for Samson to let it happen. A split-second decision, in fact. The rest takes care of itself - from the aether or phlogiston or the great lotus-heart of creation springs forth the first miracle Samson has wrought with his own hands - small dogs, pugs, hurtling at great speed as soon as they appear, as if continuing a trajectory already set, their flight paths curving and circling around the conjurer as the power takes hold, little paws and heads wiggling in perfect synchronicity to an inaudible beat. There is harmony in the spell, choreography, or at least it is a simple matter to project it upon the phenomenon, well-coordinated and fateful as it seems at first. Papers fly in the pugs' wake, and the mistress of magic ducks her head down a little to avoid being hit by any stray canines while her golden dogs, worried at first, snatch a few of the pugs out of the air, presumably to inquire about their business and ascertain the arrangement of their internal organs empirically before the mistress instructs them to lay down as well so that she can appreciate the show. As the others slowly snap out of their magical comas, Samson stands alone, his magic fully awakened, things never possible before springing forth from his own mind and body.
"That's some awesome form you have there," the mistress comments, grinning.
"First try, and you get it perfec'ly. Had a rocky start, but I think yer gonna be all right. Now, who wants to hear about their mission? There's power to be had, guys. Much more than you've got now."* * * * *
Imprisoned with no chance of escape,
THE DUNKER refuses to dramatize and instead has a donut to tide him and his ceaseless hunger for both power-donuts and regular donuts over for the next few moments.
[Mind roll: 2+1]
And for the next few moments in question, he is an ape in a tall cage. He is smoking. People seem impressed for some reason, and he gives them his best hard-boiled ape stare. They fail to show the fear required. A challenge! But this, however, will require consideration. He can't just wander out and break them now. Too many witnesses. They'll put him down for sure. No. Have to sneak out for the night. Memorize the look of some of these people, and the smells. Can't smell too well these days. Probably hasn't got too long left in him - the keepers have been trying to make him quit for a while now. But the only way he'll quit is if he quits life at the same time. This seems like a good opportunity to do it. Maybe go look for his dignity somewhere out there.
Tonight's the night, he reassures himself. And he'll make sure it is a good night indeed, or most definitely die trying.
1. Sphere of Fragrant Strippers
Time for the stripper-boulder trap, then?
* * * * *
Eta feigns or perhaps just honestly expresses a lack of patience with all this nonsense going on.
"Ah, so you're Bonzo. Just what this room needed," she says, and the captured shade protests immediately.
"You wound me! Me, Bonzo? Perish the thought. It is quite impossible that I am Bonzo. I'm sure I'd remember something like that," it explains, starting out genuinely hurt, but quickly starting to drift off from the sound of it.
"You're Gamu, then!" Gef proclaims, and Eta's not sure if that's an accusation or just surprise.
"Oh no, not him, either. Definitely not him. He beat me up, so I can't be him, I think. That is how it works, I am sure," the captured one responds.
"You wouldn't be Gef Rachin, would you?" asks the mercenary shade.
"Well, I... hey! Wait just a minute! What's all this questioning about?" the captured shade suddenly realizes nervously.
* * * * *
Larry nonspecifically agrees with the wick-headed man.
"Sure, there's no unlimited power here. Let's go find some.""Can't, uh, give you any more unlimited power, sorry. Wouldn't be fair, would it?" the guy says as they begin to walk toward the dome. The walk seems to happen much, much faster than one would anticipate. "I think I, uh, already mentioned this, but this is just for fun."
"This isn't all that much fun, though, is it?""I guess not. But taking a look can't hurt, right?" the guy says, opening up a set of double doors on the side of the dome, the twinkling when examined up close revealed to be that of little diamonds set into its structure. The doors swing open readily at the slightest touch, and inside...
Well, inside there appears to be a tunnel, dark, damp, filled with dried mucus and with a thick bramble of some unidentified black stuff, maybe hair according to Larry's best guess. Cool air occasionally streams into it, alternating with much warmer air streaming out.
"Uh, yeah. Like I said, place needs work. A lotta work," the wick-headed guy admits. "It's much more, uh, embarrassing when there's more people than me here."
"Can we come back when the work's done, then? I really don't wanna go in there, you know! I mean, if I have no other choice, I might consider it and all, but really, it'd have to be a really decisive case of me having no other choice!"* * * * *
Halesey, overcome by God's brilliance, goes about taking one last look at the binder, so that he may have more potato to appropriately punctuate the jihad to come.
[Halesey's mind roll: 2+1]
But the potato, it feels dim inside him. When one has seen into the feelings of God, what is the concept of a mere potato to them? To the burned-out mind of the potato prophet, there is but the slightest smidgen of knowledge to be squeezed out and absorbed - what can surprise one who has, even for an instant, known all that is potato? Vaguely unsatisfied, Halesey returns to consciousness, a new spell in mind.
1. Chain of Carbonated Potatoes
I remain optimistic of your further chances, as long as precautions are taken. Take this spell, replace one of yours. They're too dangerous, you see.
This is but a blip on his radar as he offhandedly double-conjures a massive potato vortex, approvingly surveying the result before moving over to Hungry Pete, who appears to be concentrating.
"Disciple Hungry Pete, I am returning to Earth to do Potato Jihad. You may come with me or not; it is not I that will do the judging now, for it is the End Times, and only the Most Holy Potato shall judge. You are a True Potato Disciple now, so I shall tell you openly: I return to establish a Temple to His Holiness. The more powerful He becomes, the more He shall be able to help all of our happiness and protect us from Evil."Hungry Pete opens his eyes and looks at Halesey, his eyes purposeful.
"To that, I say this."[Hungry Pete's affinity roll: 5+1+1]
The entire area, vortex, Halesey, God, everything, goes quiet in the span of a moment as something becomes fundamentally unsettled in Hungry Pete's presence.
This lasts for a second, then the space around the man for what feels like miles shudders and begins to swirl powerfully, spreading outward, sweeping Halesey up and throwing him aside as the potatoes in Hungry Pete's vicinity begin to burn and to bubble, their skins peeling off and their insides flowing out. Fragments of congealed corn start to spring from nothing at all, then burst into flame. Potatoes start to fly like speeding, flaming bullets. Veins of divine fire spread out from Hungry Pete, setting the potato-laden space aflame in great streaks. From his mouth issues a low roar as he forms the center of a raging, boiling firestorm, angelic figures blooming from the flames and shooting outward before burning up or clumping together and screaming off into the distance. It feels like an explosion, but much slower... and on a much larger scale, Halesey notes as he flies away at a very good clip, getting a very good look at the strange phenomenon. It looks strange, inexplicable, and yet unfathomably complex... mesmerizing, even. One could forget themselves easily, staring into the great conflagration. Screaming and twisting his body at strange angles, and altering the explosion as he does so, Hungry Pete appears to be trying something, though what exactly that might be, Halesey cannot say.
"Oh my," he hears God say completely clearly as the flames spread ever further.
"That seems most unusual, if not entirely unexpected."
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Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 271882 times)