FATHER!THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED!
Turn 5
Following beautiful women around because you're attracted to them is creepy. Stealing is illegal.
Tough decision. Let's go with illegal. Take that walking stick. It's only vaguely illegal anyway. Maybe it has no owner?
Then see if I can be creepy afterwards. If not, probably no big loss. Go get a drink if no creeping is possible.
Given the choice, you decide that you’re probably better off with wood in your hand than going after some odd woman. Sidling over to the walking-stick is easy enough, even with the crowd to worry about, since they all seem to be thoroughly enthralled by the gnome crier’s outrageous speech—which, as you draw closer, seems to center around snake oil products like magical carrots that confer health and beauty to the consumer. No doubt he’s using the fair elf-maiden he rides as a case in point. The eyes of nearly half the marketgoers in sight are firmly focused on the pair, with the rest simply minding their own business.
{} Still, you almost surprise yourself when your fingers clasp around the firm wooden cylinder that is your target. It looks to be about four feet tall, but unfortunately, it isn’t quite as thick as you hoped it’d be. Still, it would probably turn a glancing blow aside with ease, and could be very dangerous if you swung it hard enough. You take one last glance around to make sure no one’s looking, then lift your prize and calmly walk away with a smirk on your face, straddling the side of the crowd. (Item acquired! -
Walking-stick.) Now that your nascent kleptomania has been satisfied, and pretty easily, too—
“Hey, wait!”
You nearly stumble in your tracks in surprise at the barked accusation, coming from not two meters to your right. You whirl upon the source, gripping your new staff two-handed in a hasty defensive posture.
Your intense glare settles upon a man of impressive girth who sports a black handlebar moustache, standing behind the counter of an open-air stall.
{} You get all of two seconds to notice this before his eyes fly wide with shock and he abruptly snaps his hand forward, hurling something small and square directly at you!
{} You are caught flat-footed by the projectile’s blink-of-an-eye flight, unable to evade it as it strikes!
{} It catches your left thigh at an angle and rolls away, however—
straight across the crotch of your pants!{} FUUUUUUUUUU--!! You let out a startled yelp as the most awkward
chilling feeling rakes you to the core. That was an ice cube!
Infuriated at this indignity, you react immediately, swinging your staff in a wild semi-horizontal arc.
{} Your strike hits straight and true,
{} smashing a glass mason jar to smithereens and splattering its contents all over the counter! The man rapidly backpedals away, nearly pressing his back against the contiguous set of walls that marks the facade of several major shops in the district.
{} Seconds pass in extremely tense silence as you stare each other down. Though your veins are still thrumming with adrenaline, each rapid intake of breath does nothing to calm you down at all. You dare not make another move, and judging from the man’s stance, he doesn’t either. It is then that you notice the cloying scent of something… sweet? The absolute inaneness of it leads you to glance down at the counter of the stall. It is covered with a sticky dark purple syrup that smells strongly of grapes and sugar cane. Several more such jars are lined up on the right hand side, filled with contents of colors varying from orange to red to peach. You blink.
“
Gods, man, I was just gonna ask if you wanted a drink!” the man—the
shopkeeper—snaps, glaring at you long and hard.
Nothing else, thank you friend!
Go inside and try to find my room.
Despite all the insanity that's been going on in your life recently, you actually manage to smile. At least nothing is jabbing hot ice picks into your psyche. You thank the stranger and give him a polite farewell, then walk through the rather imposing double-doors set into the side of the structure before you. The Adventurer's Guild is about what you'd expect, inside and out; a nice, homey atmosphere about the high-roofed common room, filled with the heady airs of spirits and toasted sausages. For some reason, though, the bartender, as well as one man near him holding a staff look slightly agitated, casting furtive glances at a stairwell leading up. You pay them little mind. You came here to find your room, and that's what you're going to do.
As you crest the top of the stairs—damn these bigfoots and their enormous legs—you see a lantern-lit hallway stretching before you, with several doors on either side. One is broken… wait, what? Your eyebrow shoots up. There is a strange
thunk-thunk-thunk sound coming from inside. Curious, you draw closer… and see a dwarf, pickaxe in hand, chipping away at the wooden ceiling of the room in a manic frenzy. Thunk-thunk-thunk. A rather impressive pile of sawdust and splinters already decorates the floor around him in a fine ring. You shake your head in bemusement, and continue walking down the hall, trying to determine which room is yours.
{} Just as you pause to examine one of the doors more closely, however, a dizzying feeling washes over you. Odd, because you aren’t looking down from… … Yeaaah. Steer
awaaay from bad thoughts. Ok, refocus. You carefully scan the door from body to perimeter. The frame and the door both look to be made of solid oak, and the rather simple cast-iron knob is nothing you wouldn’t expect, either. No scuff marks, no strange glowing runes, no ice rimming the edges. You sigh in disappointment, and barely even notice when your hand automatically goes to the knob, ready to begin a process of trial and error—
…Wait. That’s not your hand.
You freeze up in confusion. The appendage reaching for the door is feminine, much longer and more slender than yours, but you can’t see the person it should be connected to, least of all yourself. In fact, your entire point of view seems to have shifted; your visual origin point is at least two feet higher than normal. You feel, and yet
don’t feel, the alien hand turning the knob, and slowly pushing the door inward. Your imagination easily comes up with the faint
creak of the wood in the whole process, and somehow, something tells you that that that is the exact sound it
should make, as if you’ve done this a dozen times before. Beyond the door, you can see… No. No, this can’t be right. The door has to be
locked. You don’t have the key, you
know you don’t have the key, this
isn’t right!You shake your head, just once, and your mind is suddenly rocked by a violent and jarring shift in perspective. When you finally manage to stop shuddering from the feeling of suddenly shrinking an entire two feet back to your accustomed Gnomish size, you behold the door in front of you, still steadfastly shut and locked, as if nothing had ever happened. A quick glance to either side of you reveals no one and nothing; you are alone in the hall, except for the steady
thunk from the strange dwarf’s work nearby.
On a hunch, you try another door, directly across from the first. This time you notice it more clearly—a slightly disorienting sensation that accompanies a shift of perspective. Again come the images. A key turning in the lock. A hand reaching for the knob. Only, you notice that the hand seems a lot more familiar than before. Your point of view is also about the exact same height as you. So if you're right about this... this is your door. And you're somehow... able to see through the eyes of whoever— no, more like you can actually
experience the lingering memories around the door. You can't believe you didn't notice this before. You don't even remember ever being able to... Wait. Memories... the fog... hoods and cloaks... faces... something is going on, here...
You shake your head again, and the images disappear. Whatever that was, it might actually come in useful sometime.
(Ability gained! - Residual intuition: Doors.) For now, you head back downstairs to the front desk, passing the dwarf again on your way out; the sawdust is practically up to his ankles, now. The bartender seems to be in a better mood now, thankfully, since you're asking him if he's got a spare room key.
"Forgot that too, did you?" he mutters. Before you can ask what he means, he continues, "Lots of folk been losing their things, lately. Like they just plumb forget they even have 'em. I stopped asking if they checked their pockets after the fifth key I handed out. Name?"
"Um... Davros," you respond.
"Right, right..." He steps to the back of the bar, and pulls out a long drawer marked 'A-M'. A few seconds later and he produces a simple brass key, and lays it on the counter before you with a satisfying
clink. "Here you are, friend. You might want to put
that under a lock, itself, though. Gods know the blacksmith's gonna be making a killing off me soon enough."
"Thanks." You take the key, idly twirling it between your fingers. Might want to keep this in hand instead of pocket, for now. "By the way, what of that dwarf upstairs renovating the rooms? I know they tend to be brutish folk, sometimes, but a pickaxe seems a little excessive for the roof—"
"
WHAT?!" the bartender roars, eyes wide with fury. Before he can utter another word, the staff-wielding human from before charges up the stairwell two steps at a time.
AI Roll:{5}
Hmm. Where to start? Mangle the defective door even further? Repurpose the window into shards of raw glass? Punch in a skylight? ... ... You know what? That's actually not a bad idea.
You heft your mighty pickaxe, symbol of destruction and recreation, and
SWING up at the offending ceiling with all your strength! Your efforts are rewarded with a heavy
thunk as the forged iron end bites deep into the oaken fibers! Hah! Compared to working stone, this is nothing! You work like a man possessed, almost feeling at home again tearing through whatever obstacles there may be on your way to a brighter future—pun fully intended. Snippets of memory come back to you, of your times back in the mountains, where you actually did this sort of thing for a living. 'Cave adaptation', as some
scholarly types—you almost spit at the thought—liked to call it, was never fun to deal with. They called you mad before, but—
"
Hey!" a voice roars out, coming from the direction of the ruined door. "What the hell are you—
Stop!"
Oh, it's that bouncer you can't remember the name of... 'wafer'-something. Seems he doesn't take kindly to your domestic renewal of this inferior wooden room. In response, you merely shoot him a vicious sneer, and strike the roof once more—
CRRR-ACK!...
Huh?That is the last thought to pass through your mind before the ceiling overhead collapses, releasing a storage room's load of chairs and tables, pots and pans, crateloads of dried meat, spare linens, iron-banded barrels, and a single broom. With you right at ground zero.
{} A full keg of ale is the first to strike, catching you right in the head and laying you out on the floor!
{} {} The rest of the avalanche quickly follows,
crushing you with dozens of heavy impacts in rapid succession! Your ribs only take about eight direct hits before they cave in, piercing your lungs from the inside. When it finally ends, you're laying at the bottom of the mountain of items, with perhaps every bone and vertebrae in your body snapped into splinters. Strangely, though, the explosion of pain is actually kept fairly dull, most likely due to your still-inebriated state. As your senses shut down and your consciousness rapidly fades, a single, inane idea flits across your thoughts.
What stupid tavern stores barrels of ale in the skylight?{ YOU ARE DEAD }
Illusions! Blur their drunken perceptions! Make them think the completely out of it one is me and make it harder to focus on the area I'm sitting! Let's see what happens~ Be way more amusing then just another railing. Don't even need the energy from those anymore~ Course if the illusion doesn't work, then free energy! Not in heat so can't get preggers~
“Them… them ears o’yours are real cute,” the big hunk next to you drawls out, still rubbing on your leg.
You match his growing, drunk grin with an easy smile, leaning forward with your eyes half-lidded. “
Just the ears?”
This touches off a round of stuttering from the gaggle of enthralled bachelors. “Naaawww! Your...” “I like your… Um.” “Do you got fur everywhere? I—” “I-I like how you… *hic!* ...move.”
The smile on your face widens. You honestly couldn’t ask for a better chance… but then, you’re not a Tsuki-type Kitsune anymore, so you don’t really
need to don the velvet hat in this case. Being a Celestial does have its perks, among them being the ability to make your own energy without having to constantly sniff around as if it’s Spring all year long. Still… maybe there’s a way to make this more interesting?
You smirk.
Focusing on all four of the boys doesn’t take any real effort, as they’re already paying complete attention to you. You could shine a light on the wall and they’d no doubt leap at it like the demented felines they are. Illusion magic was something you always found to be fun; it didn’t require any complex incantations or materials, as all you ever needed was to keep your ‘audience’ anywhere between ‘raised eyebrow’ and ‘sponging drool off their faces’ for it to work. With the way you’ve got these guys totally riveted, though, you don’t even need a somatic component, which would normally consist of dancing, sleight-of-hand tricks, or anything to get their attention. All you need now is to supply the energy…
{} … … Technical difficulties. Pl… … Oh, bugger it. Of all the times… And you had
such great plans, too. Most of them involving a sixteen-limbed beast. Oh, well.
You turn your face away from your couch companion, briefly meet the eyes of his leering friends, and then, in a perfectly calculated move, reach a hand up to tug at the upper lining of your shirt. You breathe deep, effect a flawless look of mild distress, and say… “Hey… is it hot in here, or is it just me?”
Ten minutes later…{} The four boys are now either laid out on the floor, sprawled over the couch, or hanging over the chairs like limp ragdolls. All of them are unconscious, and one of them is already snoring heavily. It would all be a rather cute scene if it didn’t keep reminding you of that embarrassing beginner’s mistake you just made. Admittedly, though, keeping the mana drain at a steady level requires concentration that is rather difficult to maintain mid-railing. Being blitzed out of their minds with alcohol probably didn’t help their stamina, either. Seriously, though, ten minutes? That’s all they lasted until they passed out? You aren’t sure whether you should be more amused or annoyed.
Start backing away from the woman, but continue talking with her.
Your nerve falters. A second later, you become aware of your hand unconsciously touching your face. Good, you still have one. ... Wait, of course you do! What is she talking about? You begin slowly stepping to the side, eager to put some distance between you and the strange woman, but you still find yourself unable to look away from her intent, almost childlike stare. Unnerved by the awkward silence, you tentatively ask, "W-What?"
{} A sharp gasp of surprise from the woman is your response, followed by a cautious step back of her own. Her gaze suddenly turns more piercing, as if you are a puzzle she is trying to solve by looking at you from every possible angle. "You can see me?!" she exclaims in wonder.
"Um... Yes?" you reply awkwardly.
"That's... but, why? You aren't going to stay around here without a face! Only Roderick could really see me before..." the woman trails off, then turns around and seems to examine the wall as if looking at one carved face in particular. "Does that mean... you're gonna leave? But..."
That's it. You've had about enough of this.
{} "Look, ma'am." She practically whips back around at your forceful tone. "I really have no idea what you're talking about. Of course I have a face,
everyone does! And yeah, I’m gonna ‘stay’; I
live here in Harker’s Ford." You don’t mention where
exactly you live, of course. Not just because you’re starting to get a stalker vibe here, but because you… actually aren’t really sure of that yourself.
Her eyes sparkle with delight like a swarm of fireflies. “You’re gonna stay?!” And then she practically leaps forward, quickly closing half the distance between her and you. You tense up. “Even without a— Oh, wait, maybe you just don’t have one yet! Lots of people around here don’t have faces yet, you know. But they’re getting them. Finding them.” She palms her cheek with her right hand. “Can someone forget their face? Maybe that’s why everyone’s coming here! Well, don’t worry! Once we find your face, I can write it down so you don’t forget again! We—”
“Riiiight…” you cut her off. “I’m just gonna… go, now…”
Something changes. Maybe it was the air. Or maybe it was her expression, which is now slowly descending from sheer euphoria to shaky-eyed disbelief. You begin to feel very uncomfortable. “But… you might never find your face on your own,” she says, in the tone you recall your boss using when he tried to explain the importance of keeping the ale spigots shiny. “You can’t leave…”
Averus swears a truly horrible curse at anybody listening, which is nobody. He closes his eyes, turns around a few times, and takes the route he is facing.
{} Since your memory seems to be pretty much useless right now, you simply choose a direction completely at random and immediately begin walking that way without stopping to think for a second. You’ve just got to keep focused on movement. Can’t let your mind wander. Not in this fog. Fortunately, with nothing else around to really occupy your attention, it’s mercifully easy to stay attentive to every single footfall you make against the coarse dirt underneath you. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. You manage to keep this up for about a full minute before a thought pops into your head: these are actually really nice boots you’re wearing! You can’t believe you didn’t notice them before. The leather feels amazingly sturdy and comfortable against your heels, and somehow you can tell that the overall body of each has likely been oiled to more effectively repel moisture, as well. What fine craftsmanship! You can only guess where—
WHUMP.You reel backwards as something solid arrests your forward momentum.
Ouch! Hard, too, if the pounding pain in your forehead is any indication. Pushing all thoughts of boots to the back burner for now, you whip your head up sharply to see… a wall. A wooden wall. Not just that; it’s an entire plank-and-brick
cabin. Or… was one, at any rate. The simple structure is nearly a ruin now, with several clear holes shot straight into the side you just slammed against. Through them, you can see that the back wall is completely and utterly
gone, and almost a third of the roof bears an elliptical-shaped hole. Everywhere you look, the black marks of heavy charring can be seen, as well as small piles of ashes that have already accumulated against the base of the walls and inside the cracks between the boards. To make matters worse, a telltale
creaking noise signals the protest of the remaining load-bearing walls. That roof does not look to be in good shape, as it’s already beginning to sag noticeably in the middle. The trunk, however, is—
… Wait. How did you not notice that before? Right against the right-hand side wall is a dark wood trunk, reinforced with bands of iron. Aside from a dusting of ashes and some minor charring, it looks relatively untouched, at least from here.
{} While you look at it, you notice a weak, dull pressure seeping into your mind,
{} but you shake your head and re-focus easily just as your thoughts threaten to blur together.
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NPCs:Attempt to open the box.
{} Davros hears a shout of jubilation from the corner of the common room, and looks to investigate. A bemonocled gnome is there, holding some kind of box-like object in both hands. The box opens like the petals of a flower, emitting rhythmic clicking noises the whole while. Its handler stares at something inside with a frown, then reaches in a hand…
SNAP!...and yowls as the box suddenly closes shut like a four-sided mousetrap, right on his fingers! The gnome nearly leaps into the air in shock, and immediately tries to pry it off with his free hand. It seems to be as obnoxious as a snapping turtle, though.
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Time/Environment: It is a temperate, partly-cloudy afternoon. Davros has recently noticed that the fog appears to be slowly moving closer towards town, although it is still avoiding heavily populated areas.
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Character Status:Location: Standing in front of a shopkeeper’s bench in the marketplace, with the proprietor glaring at him in anger.
Abilities: Cold focus.
Memories/Phobias: Fear of cats.
Items: Key (apartment room). Pouch of coins (full). Walking-stick.
Health: Scratch (head, left ear, right ear).
Location: Inside the attic room of a two-story house somewhere in Harker's Ford, with four unconscious twenty-somethings sprawled over the floor and furniture.
Memories/Abilities: Rudimentary Illusion magic. Expert climber.
Location: Across the river past the eastern side of town, lost amidst a thick patch of the Veil. Standing in front of a burned-out plank-and-brick shack.
Items: Strange puzzle box (currently being handled by Cogwheel).
Location: Standing in front of the bar in the common room of the Adventurer's Guild in Harker's Ford.
Memories/Abilities: Awakened Acrobat. Memory of a place of interest (mysterious strangers). Residual Intuition: Doors.
Phobias/Penalties: Acrophobia (fear of heights).
Items: 4-inch steel boot knife. Room key.
Location: On the path leading to the Adventurer's Guild. Stopped in front of a stone wall marked with strange carvings of faces, and a woman very closeby staring at her. Hard.
Memories: Memory of the Adventurer's Guild.
Items: A slingshot. Cloth shirt, trousers, and off-white tie-back apron stained with spots of ale.
NPCs:Location: In the common room of the Adventurer’s Guild. Currently being accosted by a snapping box that really likes his fingers.
Items: Comically large glass monocle.
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Locations:Harker’s Ford: A quaint but rapidly-growing medieval hamlet that lies astride a small river and the new land trade route connecting... actually, you can't remember the name of the nation. What you do know is that close to 600 people currently live here, and that number has steadily been growing as its prime location makes it a popular stop for travelers. The river lies on its east side, the road on the south, whilst the west and north are mostly covered by forest. Goldy and Yvette live here.
1) The Adventurer's Guild: A large three-story boarding house/inn for travelers coming along the main road, located between it and the bulk of town. The front door leads into a common room where ale and food are served. Averus, Vil, and Davros live here.
2) Market: A pair of major squares along the main street through town, lined with stalls and permanent shops alike. It is also one of the few places in town where the fog seems to be less prevalent.
The Wilderness: This is a region of old growth forest about a hundred meters off from the edge of town. You can’t even remember its name, if it ever had one to begin with. When viewed from the town’s edge, it looks as though the fog that’s been steadily creeping in around and through Harker’s Ford is particularly thick beneath the tree canopy.
The River: A fair-sized body of slowly running water which covers much of the town’s eastern edge. A large wooden bridge almost straight into town marks the quickest and most direct way over, but you could probably swim across without too much trouble. The river snakes north and disappears behind the wall of trees marking the Wilderness' edge.
The Road: All you can really remember of this particularly large cobblestone thoroughfare running along the south edge of Harker’s Ford is that it was designed as a trade route, though you have no idea where to or from. The road is fairly busy; you can typically see at least three traveling parties of some description heading along it every day, though lately, most of them seem to divert off the road and wind up in town.
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GM Notes: If I missed any brackets or made any errors, please let me know so I can correct them. Thanks!
Author
Topic: The Veil of Memories [dead] (Read 16250 times)