And so Averus discovers the Veil, Vil's insanely lucky streak continues (in more ways than one), and Goldy's crusade against harmless furniture reaches a fork in the path. How shall our heroes fare? You decide!... Well, actually, the dice decide. Enjoy!
Turn 4
Look for an open window with people in sight and ask for entry. That cold sensation was jarring. If allowed. Socialize! Talk their ears off like any good fox would!
Minutes pass in relative silence. The steady background noise of the myriad people and animals in town almost makes you want to take a nap right there, but you decide against it. That freezing stab to your mind right in the middle of your jump back there still makes you feel uneasy. Was someone watching you? How could a simple look hold that much soul-piercing chill?
Well, whatever it was, at least you should be ready for it next time. You get up and stretch, ready for another round. No more jumping for now, though; time to go meet the locals!
{} You decide to cut out the middleman in this case. You’re still too far from the markets, and most of the people down in the streets would probably be too busy to chat. But up here… A foxy grin stretches across your face. Getting down from the slanted roof is a bit of a dodgy maneuver, but with all the practice you’ve had so far, you manage it with little difficulty, and soon find yourself clinging like a spider to the frame of an open window. The unmistakable smell of alcohol reaches your nostrils before your eyes even come back into focus. And when they do... oooh, boy. No, boys. Looks to be about four of them, all twenty-somethings with bored expressions on their faces, and they're just sitting around tipping back bottles in the middle of a fairly cramped attic. Your grin widens. Perfect.
"Yoo-hoo!"
Four slightly bleary pairs of eyes rise to your call with varying levels of speed. One by one, their mouths drop open. One of the boys nudges the guy next to him. "Hey, you *hic*... shee that fox chick?" The other three all nod, but the first guy seems to have given up on trying to get confirmation. He gets up from his spot on a ragged couch and makes his way over to the window, smiling at you all the while. "Heyyy," he says slowly, swaying on his legs. "Y'wanna join us? We *hic*... got plenty of booze, but..." his eyes rove over your body for a split second before he hiccups again, and turns his gaze back to your face. "But no one ash pretty ash you to share it with."
Wow. That's actually not a bad attempt for someone obviously starved for attention, and liquored-up, to boot. Wordlessly, you slide through the window and saunter over to the couch, smiling at the rest of the clique of lonely bachelors staring at you like you just descended from the heavens on golden wings.
{} The next several minutes are
glorious. The beer isn't actually that bad for cheap mass-produced stuff, and you hold up against it with absolutely no trouble. But more importantly, it's free! Your hosts are a never-ending source of conversation, each eating out of the palm of your hand and trying to impress you with how much they know about mostly irrelevant things, which leads to a few conflicting accounts and plenty of 'take-a-drink-if-you're-wrong' contests, in which you instituted yourself as the judge.
Just as you are trying to decide whether broccoli or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich would win in a fight, a peculiar—and familiar—sensation suddenly takes precedence over your growing amusement. The one you're sitting next to on the couch has his hand on your knee, and is slowly moving it up and down. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a
very familiar look in his face. The rest of them are especially rapt at attention now, except for one who is so out of it by this point he can't even keep his head straight.
Search for a weapon, and try to stay aware.
You dig through the bushes for anything useful, still casting wary glances towards the woman. When did your life turn out like this, you wonder? A serving girl at one of the most popular—and exclusive—inns of a town that you barely even
remember. What the hell did you
drink last night? Maybe this is all some kind of—
{} Your train of thought is interrupted as you feel your fingers touch on wood, but something much smoother and straighter than the scraggly bushes have any right to be. Carefully, you grasp the object and pull to extricate it from the maze of plant matter, and immediately feel a surge of elation at your prize:
A slingshot. A nice, thick, Y-shaped piece of hickory with a leather strap tied around the ends, probably left here by some kids that had been playing around by shooting at random things, such as the wall. It looks to be fairly good quality, likely made by a local carpenter as a side project. Finding any rocks big enough to fit in it properly proves tougher than you thought, though; whoever owned it previously must have taken all the prime ammunition with them.
Satisfied nonetheless, you uncoil from your crouched position by the bushes and stand, ready to move on. You cast one last look at the woman for good measure… … … Wait. She’s stopped carving. She’s not even facing the wall. She’s looking
right at you, with her head slightly cocked to one side and an almost childlike expression of curiosity and… incomprehension?... on her features.
You take a cautious step back. The way she’s staring at you with her deep hazel eyes is very unnerving. Her mouth opens, then closes, as if she’s trying to find the right words for something. The ‘knocking on the door’ sensation in your mind turns icy cold, spreading a chilly feeling almost like a miniature adrenaline rush down your spine. And then the woman gingerly points at you with her chisel, and breaks the silence.
“…You… you have no face.”
AI Roll: {3}
As you continue your staring match with the irate bouncer of the establishment, you start to feel an inexplicable wave of apathy roll over your mind. You know what? You don’t need this. You came, you saw, you got your alcohol—even if it was just mediocre swill these lowlanders no doubt cooked up in a basement somewhere. Your trusty pickaxe sits stout and true in your hands. You’ve got everything you need.
All at once, you let your arms fall limp at your sides, and give out a long-suffering sigh. This is met with a wary blink from your ‘opponent’, whose name you’ve already forgotten. Ignoring him completely, you make a beeline for the stairs, using the long handle of your pick and the occasional table to keep your equilibrium. If anyone is speaking to you by this point, you either don't hear it, or simply unable to give a purring maggot's teats.
{} After a minute of dazedly searching the second floor hallway, you finally find your room. Only, it’s locked.
{} And since you are a drunken dwarf with the high icon of all true mountain dwellers in your grasp, you simply cannot be asked to find the key.
THUNK! THUNK! CRASH!!! In but a few mighty swings of your pickaxe, the puny wooden door
explodes inward, hanging from its hinges like a loose tooth after a whole bag of sweet pod syrup candy drops! You grunt in approval and step inside, pushing your way past the ruined portal and... Wait. This isn't your room. It's just a bed and a cabinet and tossed-around clothes and
this is not your room. Anger bubbles up inside you! Where's your shrine where you hang your venerable pickaxe?! STUPID UNIVERSE! MAKE IT BE YOUR ROOM!!
You eye the door, still flapping on its hinges, then glance pointedly at your glorious implement of making and unmaking. A smirk crosses your lips. Maybe it's time for some renovations around here...
Walk outside and try to walk into the fog, but not too far. Maybe I will discover something of interest.
You wait… and wait… and wait… but your new acquaintance still seems no closer to figuring out the mechanism behind the box than he was a minute ago. You wait… you know what, screw this. You’ve got better things to do. You tell your new acquaintance you’re stepping out for a while, but Cogwheel just gives a low “hnn” in acknowledgement. He is still fiddling with the box by the time you reach the front door of the Adventurer’s Guild and step outside.
The walk to the main road is fairly uneventful, save for the sight of an odd pair of women, one of whom seemed to be drawing faces in a rock wall with a chisel. You barely pay any attention, though, and soon make your way out of town and onto the bridge leading to the east. It is then that you start noticing an odd pattern: The bridge itself is almost devoid of the bluish fog that you saw around the river before, whilst the space beyond, which you can see encompasses at least a few kilometers of grass, sparse trees, and winding road, is almost
covered with it, like a wispy, ephemeral veil. An abundance of the stuff already hangs over the river on either side of the bridge, too, so water can’t be any kind of barrier to its spread. Putting such observations aside for now, you take a deep breath, step off the bridge onto the east-going road, and plunge headlong into the fog.
{} Interestingly, your visibility doesn’t seem to suffer all that much, even when you could have sworn that the fog looked much thicker from the outside. You also don’t feel any real sense of cloying warmth or dampness from standing in the middle of what
should be a bank of water vapor. Something definitely isn’t normal about this fog. Since you already have a decent idea of what to look for, you turn your attention towards thinking hard, especially about the nature of the fog itself—and almost
immediately experience a profound effect. As if your mind was a probing hand and all the fog around you was tactile, you can
feel the presence of something there… like an old memory, only one you can’t actually identify as yours, and can’t quite seem to reach… without stretching, perhaps. And even more bizarre is the fact that you can detect
dozens of such sensations individually, as if they were bubbles of froth floating in a circling stream, only these might actually contain more than just water… and perhaps, just perhaps, could be understood, moulded, and shaped…
It is then that you really notice the chill spreading down your back. Oddly enough, 'touching' the mists around you seems to induce an antipode effect, as each individual 'bubble' actually carries with it its own peculiar warmth. You frown. Warmth is energy and motion... cold is suspension and stasis. This...
You shake your head rapidly, forcibly jarring you away from your thoughts. You've got enough to consider for now, and you've probably been out here long enough already, even though it seems to have been only a few minutes. Promising yourself you'll return here later, you turn back towards town—
{} ... ... Wait. Where's... Oh, damn it. You should have remembered the fog... the
Veil's effect on your short-term memory. You can't even tell which direction you're facing right now, or even where the road is, let alone recognize any landmarks. You're well and truly lost.
((Davros knows too much, he must be eliminated. Apparently.))
Head into the town and try to get indoors before the fog comes along. Try to remember if the knife was mine.
Wait... you’ve seen this before. In all those plays and stories of intrigue and spymastery, someone often stumbles on the grand plot before it comes to fruition, thus painting a giant target on their back. Those unlucky people are generally... taken care of, in ridiculously messy ways. What if this could turn out the same way? For all you know, seeing those five strange figures might have be tantamount to witnessing a body being thrown in a lake. Maybe you're being watched right now. Maybe those figures
are the fog, and then you wouldn't even know it if they came up and sank a... You pause. A bead of sweat rolls off your brow, and you notice that your hand is twitching, already poised to go for your newly-found knife.
Back up a step. If there really
is something or someone out there, you decide that it’s better to be prepared before making any further moves. And then it hits you – you’ve still got that room at a place called the Adventurer’s Guild! It'd be a perfect hideout!
{} You can vaguely remember it being on the south end of town, close to the main road and the river, so you trudge off down the streets into Harker's Ford proper. To occupy your time, you turn your thoughts to the knife you conveniently found on your way back. How did it get there? Was it yours? It sure did fit into your boot almost perfectly…
{} Nothing comes to mind, though. With your luck, it could have just as easily been left there by someone with a passion for whittling as it could by you with your frequent memory lapses.
“…Annnd here we are, friend. Need anything else?”
You blink. The world around you suddenly leaps into your awareness again; you’re standing right in front of a wooden building that you somehow immediately identify as the Adventurer's Guild. The three-story structure causes your stomach to give a little lurch, but thankfully, you seem to still be standing safely on the road... and with a sandy-haired human waiting at your right side, ostensibly the bigfoot who led you here. And you can't even remember a thing that happened. A curse dies on your lips. Oh, well; at least those memory lapses seem to give you a nice Quick Jump option from time to time.
"Ah... heh. Sorry, people. I'm just a little frustrated is all."
Once the crowd clears, grab the bench, or at least remove a part of it and keep it if it's too heavy to carry around with a degree of comfort. It shall be my defense against forces that seek to destroy me.
The presence of an audience mollifies the rest of your anger. The crowd, sensing that no further outbursts seem to be forthcoming from you, warily disperses, some individuals still casting hairy-eyed glances in your direction. Great. You should probably take this whole mess elsewhere, anyway—like back up to your room. All the better to disassemble things in a private environment. You grasp the heavy bench with both hands and
lift with all your might, but sadly, you only manage to get one end off the ground. It's probably meant to be hauled by two people.
Or maybe it's an 'assemble-on-site' piece of furniture? In that case, all you need to do is follow one of the most important laws of the universe: You must
destroy to create. Checking one last time to make sure you're not going to attract too much attention, you take hold of one of the wooden armrests and throw all your weight behind a wrenching twist!
{} Your efforts are rewarded with an audible
crack!... Oh. No, wait, that was your joints.
Ouuuuuuch. The damn thing must be made of solid oak.
Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. You plop down on the bench, nursing your aching wrists. Now you don't even have a serviceable club or similar skull massaging implement to fend off the unnamed terrors that you
know are out there, waiting to strike. But you've still got eyes in your head, so at least you can see them coming. Probably.
{} Regular passersby and marketgoers aren't really your problem right now, but you scan each slightly suspicious face your eyes come across regardless. And there's plenty of suspicion to go around, too; once, you swear you saw a
dwarf peddling what looked to be models and concept art of
treehouses. And... Ahhh... wait, what's this? Someone appears to have left their walking stick leaning against the side of a wall, easily reachable from the street. It looks to be in good condition, too, from what you can see. It would probably make for a decent weapon for you, if you don't mind feeling like an awkward lion tamer. And it would let you circumvent the tiresome process of procuring one from an existing construction. Yes. Why not
steal seal the deal?
Just as you are about to get up from the bench, though, you feel a very particular twinge in your mind, somehow similar to when you were... something... back in your room. Shoving the thoughts of fur and claws from your thoughts for now, you focus, trying to pinpoint... ...
there! A woman in a dark brown robe, lined with silver trim. You don't know why, but you find it very difficult to take your eyes off of her, and not because she's good-looking. Something just... stands out, like a single burning torch in a field of short candles. She is maintaining a course across the market grounds and towards the east road leading to the river, it looks like... and you can't tell whether or not she's noticed you in turn. You then notice that the crowd is beginning to swell again, as some garishly-dressed gnome straddling the shoulders of an elf-maiden has attracted quite a group with some inane speech you don't pay any attention to. You curse inwardly. The woman is moving fast towards the river. You could follow her... but then you'd lose your chance at grabbing that walking stick. By the same token, you could still get that now, but with this kind of crowd in the way, you could easily lose track of her afterwards. You've probably only got seconds to decide...
----------
NPCs:You cannot see what he is doing.
{} ...
----------
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.
----------
Character Status:Location: Sitting on scuffed-up oak wood bench on the edge of one of the market squares in Harker's Ford.
Abilities: Cold focus.
Memories/Phobias: Fear of cats.
Items: Key (apartment room). Pouch of coins (full).
Health: Scratch (head, left ear, right ear).
Location: Inside the attic room of a two-story house somewhere in Harker's Ford, with four liquored-up twenty-somethings nearby. One on the couch adjacent.
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.
Items: Strange puzzle box (currently being handled by Cogwheel).
Location: Standing in front of the Adventurer's Guild in Harker's Ford. A sandy-haired human is nearby, ostensibly having guided Davros there.
Memories/Abilities: Awakened Acrobat. Memory of a place of interest (mysterious strangers).
Phobias/Penalties: Acrophobia (fear of heights).
Items: 4-inch steel boot knife.
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 in front of it staring at Yvette.
Memories: Memory of the Adventurer's Guild.
Items: A slingshot. Cloth shirt, trousers, and off-white tie-back apron stained with spots of ale.
Location: Standing inside someone else's room on the second story of the Adventurer's Guild, with the door dangling in tatters off its hinges.
Memories/Abilities: Weapon manifestation: Pickaxe.
Items: Iron pickaxe (Mfst).
Health: Drunk (pain tolerance).
NPCs:Location: Last seen sitting in a booth in the Adventurer's Guild common room, fiddling with Averus' strange puzzle box.
Items: Comically large glass monocle.
----------
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, Gunther, 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.
----------
GM Notes: Gunther is on AI for this turn, so if LuckyKobold isn't back by next turn, I'll have to kill him off. It'll be a shame to lose such a fine, true dorf, but what're ya gonna do.
Author
Topic: The Veil of Memories [dead] (Read 16272 times)