In a large dwarven logging camp...
Faer, seeing an opportunity in the mind of a presumably unhinged blue goblin, starts to work some fine magic.
"Interesting. Much can be learned from a creature by what it fears, however," he says to nobody in particular as he begins to touch the creature's mind with a blackened, fearsome tendril, causing ripples in its psyche. The goblin's eyes start to widen.
"It's coming!" he says, and the two other goblins crane their heads to look at him. The blue goblin nervously chuckles. "I can hear it in the wind!"
"It's coming?" the red goblin asks, looking excited.
The blue-cheeked goblin jumps to his feet, then crouches down to gaze at his surroundings. "He's right!" he says, tapping his head. "I can hear it too!"
"It! Is! Coming!" the blue goblin says much louder. A few dwarves to stop and look at what he seems to be doing. "AND I SHALL BE READY!" he shouts, spreading his spindly arms wide. And just then, Faer notices something - on the palms of his disproportionate hands there appear to be crude cross ornaments. And at the goblin's final word, sparks appear in them, blossoming into small spheres of fire that begin to grow, quickly reaching the size of his head, at which point they stop and the goblin lowers his arms - the spheres of flame still remain, incredibly still like their creator. Only the blue goblin's eyes still move, and they do so with maniacal quickness. The other two goblins, now on their feet and fully alert, seem to have pulled out very sharp-looking knives, looking all around in a jittery fashion. The dwarves seem to be busy getting out of sight at a considerable speed.
In Crawlinghome's armory...
Rev, turning into a young guardsdwarf with a good enough resemblance to the dwarves he spent some time observing out at the front, grabs a dagger and steps out into a corridor. Readying himself, he sprints wildly into the jail, slamming the door behind him, the sound nearly making June fall off her stool. Unfortunately, the door seems to open inward toward the jail - in addition, the deadbolts that are there seem to be on the outside, though there is a keyhole on the inside as well.
"June! Tom!" he shouts. "We need to lock this door! That woman is killing everyone!"
June, who seems to have been terribly tightly wound already, rushes to the door immediately, fishing out a key after a moment of fumbling and nearly slamming it into the keyhole, locking it as hard as she can.
"Oh god," she says. "I hope we'll be safe here."
"We're all gonna die!" Tom says, then pauses. "Well, you two are gonna die, probably. I'll just starve here until somebody comes along and gets me out." June gives him a glare of pure hatred.
In the foyer of Crawlinghome's militia building...
Viri is understandably skeptical of some bloody-minded suspicious dwarf's ability to trump her magic.
"Was that a threat, Child of the Mountain? I know you have quite a number of difficulties comprehending logical thinking, but even you should be able to understand it's rather dull to threaten magi. What I intend to do right now is locate whomever leads this town and report you for severe malconduct. You are not befitting of your position," she says, then turns to leave.
"We'll see," says the captain, then rushes forward. At that moment, the dwarves around him rise immediately, hands at their swords. Syb gets her sword out in a moment, and the captain himself unsheathes a dagger with great quickness. The captain, having attained surprising speed, slams into the shield with all his weight and flies backward doubly quickly, flying into the beds of the barracks with a sound of breaking wood - the slam from the captain seems to have been powerful enough to push Viri right into Syb, putting her right within the boundaries of the fox's shield, her minimal weight failing to even upset the dwarf's stance. Using the moment, Syb wraps her arm around Viri's neck and stabs her blade into her front, dragging it up as she splits open the fox's belly, her innards beginning to spill out exactly as Viri herself had observed on several of her subjects. Not in the least discomfited or even inconvenienced by this, Viri smiles at her exquisite workmanship. The other two guards pause in their charge, perhaps supposing the fight quite over, or perhaps unnerved by Viri's own calm.
Using the lull, Viri prepares for a push. Weaving her force magic, she unhooks Syb's arm from around her throat and lifts the dwarf up handily, depositing her gently by the wall without even looking. Instead she locks her gaze with the other two guards as her intestines slowly slip back into her abdominal cavity, the hole sealing up with an unnerving fleshy noise accompanied by her seemingly real blood reversing its path and forcing itself back into her vessels, a tranquil smile on the sorceress' face throughout. The guards pause for a moment, giving Viri the moment she needs to try and reform her shield once more - at the spur of the moment it seems even less effective than the last one, working more along the lines of a telekinetic block. Fortunately it proves unneeded, as the guards seem to have gotten the right idea and begun to step off.
Gazing at the injured form of the captain in the broken remnants of a bunk bed, Viri notes that his leg probably isn't supposed to bend that way, and for a moment the guards perceive her smile become that much more satisfied. Without another word she does a small curtsy and walks on out of the militia building out into the streets of Crawlinghome, towering over the dwarves populating its streets and garnering quite a few curious looks. Noticing a particularly promising onlooker, she approaches.
"Greetings. I'm not from around here," she says with disarming calm. "Would you be able to tell me where I could find whoever leads this town?"
"Uh... yes?" the onlooker, a young dwarf woman in conspicuously nice clothing, says. "That's Mayor John the Eldest you're looking for. He's at the town hall... or his house, they're both by the big puffball."
In Doctor Dave's office...
Martingold continues to answer the doctor's queries.
"Other than Viri, the only other foxes that I know about are Whiskers, Rev, and Faer. I don't have any idea about their whereabouts unfortunately. We just arrived at the town and then went our separate ways. As far as I know they might not even be here anymore. They won't cause any harm as long as you don't bother them though, that I am sure of."
As the doctor nods sagely, the fox attempts to sate his hunger for trivia.
"Now about that king. What city did he live in and what was his name?"
"He was a ruler, not a king," the dwarf responds. "It was all a very cult like business, I'm rather glad I'm out of there in hindsight. It's all ancient history anyway, I'm sure some terrible fate has befallen them by now. Anyway, enough talking about the past. I feel like you're not an immediate threat, so I'm going to call over young Ray and we'll all go see the mayor to talk over what our options are. Maybe he'll know something to help you on your way, hmm?"
Leaning into the hallway, the doctor raises his voice. "RAY, COULD YOU COME IN HERE FOR A MOMENT?"
It doesn't take long for Ray to show up, looking ready for just about anything, although he seems very much surprised at the lively look about Martingold.
"Could you please unfasten our guest, whose miraculous revival needs no explanation at this point in time, and escort the both of us to the mayor if you'd be so kind?" the doctor asks kindly.
"Uh..." Ray starts to articulate, looking unsurely at the doctor. "Okay..." He moves over to unfasten Martingold's bonds and helps him to his feet, and with not much more fanfare than that they set off, walking on out of the doctor's home and over to the puffball, stopping at its front door, where the knocks resolutely. The door opens, showing a red-nosed, middle-aged dwarf who seems to be a bit tipsy at the moment.
"Ah, doctor. Good to see you. John is currently seeing a guest. A talking cat of some sort," the door-dwarf says. "Very odd, but seemingly harmless enough."
"A talking cat?" asks Ray. "Are you sure?"
"I didn't quite observe it myself, but he referred to it as such, so I'd assume so," the dwarf replies, smiling a tad absently.
"A talking cat, you say?" the doctor says, looking at Martingold. "Must be an acquaintance of my friend here. If you wouldn't mind, Tim, I think it would be best for both John and myself if he meets the talking cat and our friend over here at the same time. It will save us some hassle, for sure."
"Oh, I wouldn't mind. I doubt John would, either. Go right in," the dwarf replies, opening the door wider and letting the group in.
As they start to come in, the doctor turns to Ray. "Thanks for escorting us, Ray, give my regards to Selma and the lads when you get back. Oh, and you mentioned having trouble sleeping lately, no? If it persists, come see me in a few days and I'll try to work something out, hmm?"
"Oh, uh, yes, doctor," Ray says. "I think I'll stick around, though. Maybe guard this building. I mean, talking cats? What? Who knows what could happen?"
The doctor shrugs, and he and Martingold proceed inside to a cozy, dimly lit hallway. From one of the further rooms voices can be heard, one of them definitely sounding very familiar to Martingold...
Inside the mayor's home...
Whiskers continues the interview, asking more and more questions along the way.
"No. Personally, I think it's because our god is weakening. Do you have a map of the village?"
"A weakening god? Perhaps a reasonable explanation, if an entirely untestable one. And no, don't have a map of it around here. Don't see it doing you much good, honestly."
"What are the rituals for? What do they consist of?" he asks, and the mayor shrugs.
"I suppose to improve it somehow. They're conducted at day in strict secrecy, with observation strictly forbidden, which is a requirement we humor for their sake. Mostly harmless things I'd imagine, little bits of superstition that they believe will give them an edge. Maybe they do, even? Who knows?" he says.
"So, the puffball was put here by the village, then?" Whiskers continues, and the mayor nods.
"Oh, yes. Have to replant it each year. Grows like the dickens, to be sure, especially now. Couldn't have dreamed of a puffball this big in the early days," he explains. In the distance there's a knock on the door, and the sound of steps from inside the house. "Ah. Busy day for me, it seems. Not to worry, though. Tim'll get it just fine."
"At any rate, now I find myself curious about your associates. What can you tell me about them?"
There is the sound of more steps coming into the house, seemingly two or perhaps more dwarves.
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Topic: Outfoxed - Chapter 1: A Sense of Direction (Read 14530 times)