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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written  (Read 262379 times)

Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2145 on: April 13, 2017, 09:22:26 am »

Thomas sighed.  This was getting annoying.  "Gentlemen, I have no quarrel with you.  That said, my friends and I are going up this ridge.  Leave us be and you'll never see us again.  Fighting is pointless; there are twice your number coming behind me.  Just leave us alone."  He kept the sword at the ready.

Roll for intimidate.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2146 on: April 13, 2017, 10:45:34 am »

Dispense some wisdom now that I'm suitably drunk and on good mood.

"Resounding success! Now, Lee, words of wisdom: I know you don't seem to have very high opinion of your bro, but his plan worked despite of his doubts. Give him some credit. I must admit I helped along a little bit, but the outcome was inevitable from the moment we found him. And when I say inevitable, I truly mean it." Leif says, trying his best to sound wise. "Denying one's self and potential of others is not a good thing in long run. You grow as a person if you accept yourself with all your faults and strengths, and you support growth of others by accepting that they can be more that they appear. Because appearances are like clothes we wear, hiding our insecurities and fears. Forcing change results only fractures, so do not try to force it either. With these seeds of wisdom planted in your mind I must now depart to... somewhere important, I'm sure. Say Morag, wanna find that perfect beer I made and lost and taste wisdom of the ultimate wine?"

Embark on another quest of discovery if I can get company.
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I told you to test with colors! But nooo, you just had to go clone mega-Satan or whatever.
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2147 on: April 14, 2017, 06:57:55 am »

I lean toward Oggie. "Hey, so the innkeeper here is a good person, definitely not worth killing. She fed me well, and resents the soldiers who attacked Anglefork. So... let's not be rash." Then I enter the inn to see about getting some rooms.

Oggie continues to grin as you enter single file through the door. The doctor follows along at the back, hoping perhaps to intercept any kind of undesirable behavior on your odd companion's part.

The place seems much the way you left it. The hearth hasn't been lit though, and nobody seems to be in presently. The proprietor snaps suddenly to attention as the three of you enter, looking equal parts surprised and delighted at this sudden visitation. She rises from the stool by the counter and starts walking in your direction. When she notices it's you again, she tilts her head. Then she sees the much more immediately distressing sight that is your twisted friend. Taking all of this together, her reaction is an entirely sensible mixture of puzzlement and sense of impending doom as Oggie gives her a penetrating stare.

[A Trail of Broken Necks: 3]

She knows this one, Oggie rumbles in your direction. Worked here once under the innkeeper. Weary, but unbroken. The rebellion has worked out for her. She has the face of an eager collaborator, and the hands of one who held the knife. She would not call it murder - revenge, possibly. Oggie would hope to repay her in the same fashion - such betrayal should be punished most severely.

What is that thing, the proprietor asks you sharply. Why did you come back here? You were going south, she narrows her eyes, did something happen on the way? And who is that woman you have brought with you, is she-

[A Place To Stay The Night: 3]

Oh, you fake a laugh, don't mind them. This is doctor, uh, the good doctor, yeah. She's cool. And that over there is Oggie, she's perfectly all right in her own unusual kind of way, don't mind the weird troglodytic adaptations, she's a very well-behaved woman in her own right, yes ma'am. You've been traveling! Up and down and in some other directions, you nod. It'd take a while to get the exact details across, suffice to say that things haven't gone as planned and you'd really like to get a place to stay for the evening. The roads aren't a place to be out on at night, you've discovered.

The stoatwoman scans the three of you suspiciously. There is room. But on one, no, two conditions - first of all, you pay in advance. Secondly, that thing, she indicates Oggie, that thing has to stay outside. She doesn't like the way it's looking at her.

The murderer does not like her, Oggie growls. Good. She smells her own death.

"By donation, do you mean of money or just helping you guys out? I can do either, I've got time."

Do the chefs want help? I've got pretty much the ultimate knife, after all.

Helping out? You are very kind to offer such a thing. They have just the series of delicate yet physically demanding jobs for you. First of all, there is the matter of the horse, just out back over there.

[Stay Out Of The Kitchen: 6]

You never thought taking care of a horse could be this easy, you say as you walk back in a minute later with several hundred pounds of meat on your back. To your credit, the cook says, that absolutely is an excellent thought-knife you have. It's great to have a skilled pair of hands around! Nothing goes to waste!

You spend the next half hour or so with a curious device in one of the corners of the kitchen. It smells intensely of ether, the fumes going to your head readily as you work. You're apparently quite good at this as well, swapping cultures of maggots and what seem to be bacteria around quite easily, picking out certain lovely strains by minute discolorations as a cook stands by and eagerly explains the fundamentals of his art, relishing in the attention.

That done, you deposit four select cultures into the horseflesh you harvested as one of the cooks sets up some incense for the right sort of ambiance and the other lights a few candles. One culture deposits salt, another desiccates. A third seems to be a kind of pyrogenic breed of creature, its gestation time finely tuned by long-standing culinary entomology practices. The fourth, naturally, is just for flavor. And once that's done, into the oven it goes for a bit - worry not, good sir, these things are very nicely optimized to produce results quickly. Alchemy has nothing on this, the cook taps his nose in good humor.

The next hour or so is spent preparing canapes. Apparently everyone loves those. The murder-thought seems awfully delighted with the notion of dicing various assemblages of flesh and bread into the tiny edible bits. You prepare the snack plates in such record speed that the cooks give you a standing ovation. They could almost hear the food scream as you did it, always a good sign that you're doing things the proper way! Speaking of, there's a bit of a whine in the air. Go and check the oven, will you?

You check the several hundred pounds of horseflesh incubating in there under several hundred degrees, opening the oven door an inch or two. Something slams against the inside of it and nearly pours out before you push it shut again. Yes, one of the cooks laughs, that does happen sometimes! You think this is a good way to haze an apprentice, perhaps? They've been experimenting with a few methods in case the captain gives them one or two to play around with. Anyway, the cheese plates!

Cheese seems worth bringing your A-game out for, so you go buck wild here. Cheese roses, one of the cooks says, how charming! And is that a cheese carnation? And... grapes? Sculpted from milky soft cheese? Genius! At some point the two of them just stop speaking and watch you work at it, fashioning a variety of edibles from cheese until you've made a cheese bouquet, a cheese fruit plate, a cheese bowl of cheese cereal and a cheese diorama of a ship (the last one might be a bit much, they admit, but they nevertheless admire the potential for precise work a thought-guided knife affords).

There is another slam at the oven and a muffled shriek. Haha, says the cook, it's still going! How long has it been? The other cook purses his lips - an hour, wait no, two hours! A little too long for it to still be going like that, the first cook notes. Do check that out, good fellow!

You look inside the oven, and a human-sized roll of horse bacon smashes into the door again. Aha, one of the cooks says, looks like you got the whole juggler out of the deal! The other one has a paroxysm of laughter. Better wrangle it good, they say! That kind of attitude from your food is not to be engendered by any means!

[I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream: 2+1+1 vs. 6]

You grab onto the juggler in the oven. You did not count on several things as you did so. Firstly, the larval cultures inside it appear to have coated its outer bits with a thick layer of some kind of oily substance, presumably for climate control as it appears to be currently locked into a boiling temperature. This leads into the second thing, which is that you've just thrust your hands into a boiling mass of horseflesh (and not the water kind of boiling, this is at least a hundred degrees higher). And thirdly, whatever this has turned into, it's got a hell of a full-body bite as it snaps around your hand and breaks it very suddenly in half before launching itself straight out of the oven and onto the floor, where it leaves a large oily splat before surging in a random direction.

[Can't Take The Heat: 5]

Probability is rather fortunately against it as it slams into a stone wall and for a moment becomes terribly indecisive, wiggling every which way formlessly. The cooks continue to be endlessly amused at all of this. Though they have stepped well away and even jumped up on tables just in case.

Thomas sighed.  This was getting annoying.  "Gentlemen, I have no quarrel with you.  That said, my friends and I are going up this ridge.  Leave us be and you'll never see us again.  Fighting is pointless; there are twice your number coming behind me.  Just leave us alone."  He kept the sword at the ready.

Roll for intimidate.

[There's A Million Things You'd Rather Do: 1]

They spring from the underbrush as you take notice of them, and look between each other as you try to make a sensible case for solving this peacefully. It's true, you command vast and probably infernal power they could not hope and do not even want to comprehend. You are about to be backed up by many more of your associates. This probably won't end well for any of them.

Nevertheless, there's seven of them and one of you right now. In lieu of any other advantages and in the face of horrible doom, well, at least you won't be able to say they did not try. They lift up their spears and charge!

[Battle At The Big Ridge: 5 vs. 3]

They're not trained fighters by any means. Neither are you, truth be told, but there's something to be said about having your back to a 150-foot drop and a sword of unclear length and power in your hand. As they charge forward desperately, you draw and swing with a flash of uniform gray that parts their numbers in half as they turn aside at the last moment and go past you as you try to follow through with a timely set of steps.

Distasteful and familiar, one can't help but whisper in complaint. Fodder, the lot of them.

[Mastery of the Field: 3]

You turn around confidently after the skirmish, sword ready by your side as you prepare to ward off another assault. There's only five now left. They look at each other again in increasing panic, having traded places with you in the exchange as you seem to have cut a path straight through them as if they weren't there to begin with. Your breathing feels controlled, and you feel oddly on top of things despite just being the would-be victim of a 7-man desperate charge.

You do hear others coming, however, the bushes shaking as others quicken their pace, the clatter of spears being passed around and readied.

Dispense some wisdom now that I'm suitably drunk and on good mood.

"Resounding success! Now, Lee, words of wisdom: I know you don't seem to have very high opinion of your bro, but his plan worked despite of his doubts. Give him some credit. I must admit I helped along a little bit, but the outcome was inevitable from the moment we found him. And when I say inevitable, I truly mean it." Leif says, trying his best to sound wise. "Denying one's self and potential of others is not a good thing in long run. You grow as a person if you accept yourself with all your faults and strengths, and you support growth of others by accepting that they can be more that they appear. Because appearances are like clothes we wear, hiding our insecurities and fears. Forcing change results only fractures, so do not try to force it either. With these seeds of wisdom planted in your mind I must now depart to... somewhere important, I'm sure. Say Morag, wanna find that perfect beer I made and lost and taste wisdom of the ultimate wine?"

Embark on another quest of discovery if I can get company.

Well, Lee just left to get changed with May, which does leave you, Earnest, Morag and Bruce just hanging out around here. Bruce seems to get rather talkative as he stumbles to his feet. The extreme round of vomiting back there, he says in a weak voice, that was... a cunning distraction, yeah.

He didn't need a cunning distraction, Earnest chides him, Lee just went and asked May about her robe and that solved the problem!

So what he's saying, Bruce furrows his brow, is that he went and got alcohol poisoning to make sure this worked and it wasn't actually- he is about to say more, but is cut off by another round of extreme purging. You pat him on the back reassuringly as Lee comes back, still stone-faced and distinctly unimpressed. You figure it's time for a speech to celebrate your success!

[Speaking Words Of Wisdom: 3]

Lee merely stares at you impassively as you relate your wisdom to her, Earnest oscillating between side-eying you awkwardly and glancing at her, Morag producing exactly one tear from her eye as she listens more to the sound of your voice than what you're actually saying. Well said, Morag compliments a little too soon after you're done, now you were saying something about booze!

Words of wisdom, Lee responds to you, do not presume you know something about her brother that she does not. You have known him for two hours, she has known him all his life. And now that this debacle is done, she will be leaving now. Only so much of you that she can take.

Yeah, uh, Earnest says, he'll be going as well. He was thinking about getting lunch and, hey, he tries to bravely segue, does Lee have any lunch plans? Lee looks at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. No, she legitimately does not. Maybe they could have lunch together then, Earnest ventures to say, and leave these two to, like, whatever nonsense they were doing. Out of sight, out of mind. She meant she was not planning on having lunch, Lee corrects. There is something else she has to do. Earnest sinks a little in response to this - oh. Oh well. He'll just go have lunch on his own then.

Bruce shuffles up, wiping the last flecks of sick from himself, he'll take that lunch invitation! He kind of went and lost his in advance. Earnest gives him a withering glare - oh piss off already, Bruce. He's had just about enough of all this weird crap. He shakes his head, and you notice Lee smile just a little bit before she walks off, Earnest vacating the area in a different direction. Bruce, not to be denied, crawls after Earnest.

That leaves you and Morag, sitting next to the gorge. Ideal booze, she says thoughtfully. Sounds like a dream. Maybe a memory. You sure you didn't just imagine something like that again? She gets the feeling you might be the kinda guy who occasionally doesn't differentiate very well.

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TopHat

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2148 on: April 14, 2017, 07:33:35 am »

So much for that.
Forget about it and check out the puzzlebox thing instead.
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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2149 on: April 14, 2017, 10:12:01 am »

"... It could be my imagination, yes. The fact I forgot where I left it doesn't speak well for it. But it's not like I got anything better to do."

Flip that one gold coin I got. Heads, I go looking for it, tails, invite Morag into my Asgardian resort to meet with gods.
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I told you to test with colors! But nooo, you just had to go clone mega-Satan or whatever.
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2150 on: April 14, 2017, 12:38:58 pm »

Daniels pulls out his speaking trumpet, having gotten thoroughly into the spirit of things. "Oi! You juggler thing! That was very rude, get back in the oven to be cooked for us."

Make sure I'm not allowed to just slice this thing up with my murder-thought. If I am, try cutting it in half or something. Assuming I'm not, though, just use my murder-thought to prevent it from going in any particular direction I don't want it to go, and use the door I have to push it back into the oven without burning myself.
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penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2151 on: April 15, 2017, 05:53:00 pm »

"Oh, no, Oggie just comes off like that at first," I try to convince the innkeeper. "She's really a very fun person once you get to know her. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

After she responds to that, I change the subject to our payment. I doubt Oggie would appreciate me giving her valuables to a stoat, so I need to get the innkeeper away from her before I can do that. "I understand needing us to pay in advance, but can you take me to see the room first, at least? I like to know what I'm buying." I turn to Oggie and the doctor. "You guys just stay here and rest your legs for a minute. Maybe we can have a drink or something when I get back."
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2152 on: April 15, 2017, 09:15:39 pm »

This had all started to go to Thomas's head.

"Three!  Three of you have fallen?  Do you see a wound on me?  Do you think that the remainder stand a chance!  Come at me if you dare; run now if you want to see tomorrow!"

Continue to intimidate.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2153 on: April 16, 2017, 08:40:07 am »

So much for that.
Forget about it and check out the puzzlebox thing instead.

You shuffle over to the display case with the suspended cube and pop it open. The cube stands within it, suspended without any visible connection between the ornate steel claws of its stand.

[The Mystery Cube: 4]

You tap at the cube's surface at first, to no apparent effect as you scan the outer grooves of the cube's surface. Your fingers travel along it all the way to the edge, and suddenly it feels like electricity running through you, an unnatural vibration in your nerves that makes you instinctively recoil.

Being a sensible individual at heart, you check whether you are grounded for a second - fortunately it appears that you are not. You touch the edge again, and this time choose to endure the vibration - running your finger along the edge, you feel it travel to your head in an extraordinarily unpleasant fashion.

And then you see cities, forests, rivers, civilizations running past your eyes at lightning speed. You recognize the ruins of Anglefork briefly, and the borderlands of the Kingdom of the Dead, and the gaping maw in the vast bog where the Palace is said to rest, all scattered among millions of images blasting into your brain.

You draw back again. The images linger for a little bit, playing back to front once again before fading entirely. The cube lies in the display case, now gently rotating in its stand from your touch, almost beckoning you to try again.

"... It could be my imagination, yes. The fact I forgot where I left it doesn't speak well for it. But it's not like I got anything better to do."

Flip that one gold coin I got. Heads, I go looking for it, tails, invite Morag into my Asgardian resort to meet with gods.

You guess you could go ahead and look for a barrel of booze that may or may not actually exist and that you definitely have no idea as to the current location of. Or you could outsource your decision making to this shiny gold coin. It definitely seems like it could outthink you in your present state, so there's that.

[A Fateful Flip: 1]

Of course, when you did this you didn't quite count on completely fumbling the catch and the coin falling straight into the bottomless chasm you're sitting next to. Just as well, you figure, you didn't see a head on either side. One had a giant castle. The other had some kind of unusual bird with nine pairs of wings curled up in a spiral. You figure both of those are some variety of tails, and thus opt for the solution that doesn't involve you getting up and stumbling down yet another foreboding cave complex.

Morag, you say, wanna go on a trip to the home of the gods? She's not really sure what you mean by that, so you decide to do the responsible thing and go along with it anyway.

[Rebuilding Bifrost: 2]

You take her shoulder and whisk her fancifully along to the Field of Deeds, where the gods meet to play their god games and do their god things, a wonderful realm of ideals beyond the reach of mortal man!

Chief among these ideals presently appears to be the liberty of getting drunk in the early afternoon. And also playing hearty, if uncoordinated bowls from the looks of it. Feels like an afterparty.

Can you turn down the sun, Morag asks as she shields her eyes. You snap your fingers and the lights dim. Thanks, she says.

A few moments pass. Gods continue to hang around the area. Occasionally one of them comes over and shares a bit of gossip while quaffing a bit of mead. You see somebody rebuilding longhouses in the distance, presumably another overly optimistic giant who doesn't know better than to take the Æsir at their word.

Not really her scene at all, Morag shrugs. She was kind of expecting some, I dunno, giant battlefield where dead heroes mosh into each other consequence-free. Seems like that'd be good dinner entertainment for a prospective god.

Daniels pulls out his speaking trumpet, having gotten thoroughly into the spirit of things. "Oi! You juggler thing! That was very rude, get back in the oven to be cooked for us."

Make sure I'm not allowed to just slice this thing up with my murder-thought. If I am, try cutting it in half or something. Assuming I'm not, though, just use my murder-thought to prevent it from going in any particular direction I don't want it to go, and use the door I have to push it back into the oven without burning myself.

[Why Father Why: 6]

The juggler turns toward you as you shout at it through the trumpet, and quivers in your direction as if to ask 'who are you?' 'what is happening to me?' 'why does it hurt so much?' 'why why why' and more of your favorite existential hits of the past decade. You figure a sensible conversation isn't in the cards considering its state agitation, so you turn to the cooks for advice.

Hey, one of them says, it's your juggler, so you do you! Thanks, you say as your murder-thought prepares to leap from the walls. This simplifies things considerably!

[This Miracle Of Living: 4+1+1 vs. 3]

The murder-thought is efficient as always, cutting the juggler in half like a stick of warm butter, a spurt of grease and pupating insects flying every which way as you tear it open. It twitches furiously as the two sides roll apart, the holes in it starting to shriek like improvised mouths. Shrieking your name, in fact.

Now you've done it, one of the cooks says as he shields his ears. That's seven years of bad luck in the culinary business, the other comments, a juggler screaming your name like that. Nothing worse than your food thinking it's got something on you because it knows what you're called. Unless you're a rich gourmet, the other one points out, then it's just another outlet for your delightfully sadistic and self-aggrandizing tendencies.

"Oh, no, Oggie just comes off like that at first," I try to convince the innkeeper. "She's really a very fun person once you get to know her. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

After she responds to that, I change the subject to our payment. I doubt Oggie would appreciate me giving her valuables to a stoat, so I need to get the innkeeper away from her before I can do that. "I understand needing us to pay in advance, but can you take me to see the room first, at least? I like to know what I'm buying." I turn to Oggie and the doctor. "You guys just stay here and rest your legs for a minute. Maybe we can have a drink or something when I get back."

[It's The Best Idea: 1]

She gets where you're coming from, the innkeeper says, but that thing stays outside and if you and your friend don't want to be staying outside with it, you'd better come up with a good shiny reason for that, y'hear?

Oggie continues to grin and starts cracking her knuckles. She's got a lot of crack in those knuckles, you can't help but notice.

The innkeeper gulps audibly. She- she won't be intimidated in her own inn, she says a little shakily as she fiddles with her dress, so if that's the sort of game you want to play then she would like to ask you to leave!

[An Even Better Idea: 1]

Hold, hold, the doctor says in a broken-sounding, but understandable enough dialect. Hold a moment, good stoat woman! They will send Oggie off for one moment, very sorry for this, she not very well behaved right now! She turns to Oggie and gives a pleading expression, trying to gesture for her to leave.

Oggie's eyes slide to the doctor for a second. She nods.

[Seize The Moment: 1+1 vs. 3]

You hear her leap forward toward the innkeeper, who to her credit seems to have been mentally preparing herself for exactly this sort of thing as she appears to have pulled out a knife from somewhere in her dress. Oggie roars as it manages to find her side, drawing strange and viscous blood as the innkeeper scrambles to the side and grabs a chair in her other hand to hold out as a kind of shield, her eyes darting toward the door as she wonders if maybe she can make a break past you before the weird ape-thing manages to wring her neck.

This is all bad mistake, the doctor says with her arms raised, everyone calm selves!

This had all started to go to Thomas's head.

"Three!  Three of you have fallen?  Do you see a wound on me?  Do you think that the remainder stand a chance!  Come at me if you dare; run now if you want to see tomorrow!"

Continue to intimidate.

[Better Step Aside: 6]

You swing the sword in a broad arc to better make your point and it briefly touches one of the folk trying to circle round you to make a run for it - after that, four remain. Two drop their spears in stupefied terror. Two more decide to rather more creatively try and escape by the cliff, which is to say they jump from it and hope for the best, leaving you with two helpless individuals standing right in front of you, laying down on the ground and hoping you do not decide to smite them.

It is right about at this point that a dozen more show up behind you. He's taken hostages, one of them shouts! Where is everyone else, another of them asks aloud. Get the tribe together, you hear a woman shout from way back in the underground, everyone pick up their weapons and be ready to fight!

Quite a clamor starts to develop as the dozen or so last fighting men of the tribe look at you reluctantly, clearly unnerved by the cataplectic terror of their two comrades and mystified about the fate of their remaining fellows. They tell you, quite clearly, that you shall not get by them, but seem somewhat unprepared to outright try and push you off the cliff.

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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2154 on: April 16, 2017, 02:30:28 pm »

"I make my own luck anyway," says Daniels. He briefly considers the juggler's situation - it's entire world is pain and it has no means to survive, rendering its entire existence nothing but abject misery and agony. He licks his lips at how that's going to taste and decides that this poor bastard needs some reassurance.

"Hey! OI! Juggler! Quiet down! You don't know what's going on and everything in you is excruciating, true. But you're forgetting something - everything in this world has a purpose! I'm on the path to finding my own, and it'll take a while to do that. But you're luckier than I - your purpose is to be sustenance for others, to give of your own flesh so that others may live! You are food of the highest caliber! So fear not oblivion, for it brings both salvation for others and also a great amount of karmic weight for you - when you are next reborn, it will surely be in a sublime body for your self-sacrifice here today. Let me help you achieve your purpose. I can promise that it will be over quickly."

Philosophy battle the food! Always tastes better after putting some work into it. If my words get through to it, herd it back into the oven. If not, or it keeps screaming or something, SILENCE it so that my words may reach its core.
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XANTALOS, THE KARATEBOMINATION
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((The Xantalos Die: [1, 1, 1, 6, 6, 6]))

AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2155 on: April 17, 2017, 01:57:31 am »

"That was few days ago, big armageddon and all. I mean, what do you think caused the big explosion few days ago? Jörmungandr, lots of gods and jötnar died, and their bones were gathered to ward of ocean of vodkafruits. That, I believe, is a bit more of your scene."

Show her around; sea of vodka, the burning church if it still exists, skull of Jörmungandr, the movie theater from my eyes, and ... I probably need few more sightseeing things in here. Like Yggdrasil. No, that's a bit too big to fit in my mind, maybe a leaf or two hanging above sun?
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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2156 on: April 17, 2017, 12:21:31 pm »

Some map. Unless... Can I recall/picture any of it? You wouldn't think so, but who knows in this place? Failing that, can the box play it at a more reasonable pace?
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2157 on: April 18, 2017, 09:10:32 am »

This was getting annoying, really.  Too much going on.  "I will be going up this ridge!  If you do not move, I will move you!"

No backing down.  Start edging way toward an upward ascent.  Don't just start swording, but self defense is okay.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2158 on: April 18, 2017, 01:18:44 pm »

Oh crap. Uh.

I lunge at the innkeeper with the intention of missing and giving her an opening to escape. After she's gone we can rest, and if she gets eaten by a monster in the night, that's none of our business.
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2159 on: April 18, 2017, 02:35:04 pm »

"I make my own luck anyway," says Daniels. He briefly considers the juggler's situation - it's entire world is pain and it has no means to survive, rendering its entire existence nothing but abject misery and agony. He licks his lips at how that's going to taste and decides that this poor bastard needs some reassurance.

"Hey! OI! Juggler! Quiet down! You don't know what's going on and everything in you is excruciating, true. But you're forgetting something - everything in this world has a purpose! I'm on the path to finding my own, and it'll take a while to do that. But you're luckier than I - your purpose is to be sustenance for others, to give of your own flesh so that others may live! You are food of the highest caliber! So fear not oblivion, for it brings both salvation for others and also a great amount of karmic weight for you - when you are next reborn, it will surely be in a sublime body for your self-sacrifice here today. Let me help you achieve your purpose. I can promise that it will be over quickly."

Philosophy battle the food! Always tastes better after putting some work into it. If my words get through to it, herd it back into the oven. If not, or it keeps screaming or something, SILENCE it so that my words may reach its core.

[Your Flesh Is Forfeit: 6]

You're not sure this thing understands language as such. Doesn't really have the equipment. Despite this, however, you manage to deliver your piece with conviction, triumph, exultation! And despite its miserable state, you sense something begin to click between the two of you as it continues to shriek, but in what to you sounds like an altogether friendlier way. Less ear-piercing in any case, the cooks also joining in as they chant your name and pump their fists in the air.

You pick up one juggler in each hand and hold them at arm's length as you raise them up, symbolizing their coming ascension and for a moment the two creatures squeal in delight! Then you shove them into the oven and shut the door tightly - the chant continues from within unabated, and from the corner of your eye you see the cooks high-fiving as the crackle of fat beginning to boil and muffled skittering fills the room.

The cooks whoop at this success. It's a damn rare thing for a juggler to respond to reasoned argument! You should be proud, back in El they pay top favors for this kind of thing - now if you could get it to hold a calm, clinical conversation as it's being scarfed down, that'd be a real achievement!

[Molded By Strange Fires: 3]

You press your ear to the hot oven door as the chanting subsides over the following minutes and turns into a perfect F sharp whine that gently but decisively starts to grind in your ears.

Doesn't seem like it's taking, one of the cooks mentions. That's the sound of a regressing pair of jugglers right there, nothing quite like it in the culinary world, the other one says as he strokes his chin beard. Try singing to it, the first rather brightly suggests. No no no, the other one opines, you want to carve some more bits into it, like maybe a head around the mouth or some hands for it to do things with! He's heard a little stimulation goes a long way, don't you think?

"That was few days ago, big armageddon and all. I mean, what do you think caused the big explosion few days ago? Jörmungandr, lots of gods and jötnar died, and their bones were gathered to ward of ocean of vodkafruits. That, I believe, is a bit more of your scene."

Show her around; sea of vodka, the burning church if it still exists, skull of Jörmungandr, the movie theater from my eyes, and ... I probably need few more sightseeing things in here. Like Yggdrasil. No, that's a bit too big to fit in my mind, maybe a leaf or two hanging above sun?

[The Grand Tour: 1]

She gets into the spirit of it after a little bit. You think it's right about when you show her the church - while less than impressed with your musical tastes, she has to admit it looks really cool. There's just something about a burning building that you can just keep watching, like a bonfire except with the added benefit of the fact that it used to be something else. Bit disappointing that it's not burning down, but she guesses that's not an exhibit with any kind of longevity, is it?

You show off Jörmungandr's corpse next as you tiptoe over the sea of vodkafruit, and she peers over the edge of the skeleton into the eternal falls at the edge of your mindscape, uncontained now that the serpent is well and truly dead. That's a pretty big snake, she shrugs, encircling the world like that. It helps that distance here doesn't mean all that much, you explain to her, this thing's dimensions are stated purely in terms of the unimaginable, which is somehow easier to conceive of than, say, an actual snake that's at least fifty thousand miles long.

You continue on for quite a bit as you check out the rest of your realm, presently a little lacking in features of interest on account of the end of the world and all (not that much of it was well-defined to begin with). Morag does get properly enthusiastic at one point though as she nods with obvious interest as you show off to her the wide-open entrance to Hel, and the bit where you look out into the mortal realm, and also a couple of other things here and there that spring immediately to mind!

In the end, having looked at most everything around here, you turn to your companion once more. So, you say, impressive place! She continues to nod enthusiastically, but says nothing. Really a very good place for anybody interested in, like, alcohol and revelry and what have you. She keeps nodding. You think it could use a bit more refurbishing though, and she seems to agree judging by the nodding and enthused, unchanging expression.

[A Bit Of Foliage Here And There: 6]

You point to the sky and let the trunk of the World Tree surge out of the distant horizon, this world resting on its branch as you form a fortuitous bit of fog to conceal its true, mind-shattering enormity from any incautious eyes. As you do this, a brief wonder goes through your head as you consider whether this is supposed to be Midgard or Asgard. You suppose there's a good case to be made for either.

You decide to consult Morag - does she think this looks more like a godly kind of place or is there more of a mortal world kind of vibe? She nods at you. That's right, you say, you guess there isn't really anybody to dispute the authenticity of your vague approximation of a Norse otherworld so you might as well go crazy. Why not go nuts and name it something else entirely?

Some map. Unless... Can I recall/picture any of it? You wouldn't think so, but who knows in this place? Failing that, can the box play it at a more reasonable pace?

[Reality's Chord: 1]

It grows jumbled in your head as you try to recall bits of it, and further attempts at touching the cube's edges only make it worse, your senses already sore from previous overload. Your hand suddenly cramps and you make an incautious motion, touching the far corner as you draw back, the knowledge rushing into your mind like a burst dam as you momentarily comprehend an infinity of space every which way. The spatial enormity threatens to shatter your mind right before a much-appreciated reflex knocks you very suddenly unconscious.

[Today's Offering: 6]

When you awaken an unspecified time later with a pounding headache and a metallic taste in the back of your throat, you are resting on a dusty, but serviceable chaise longue in what looks like a rather small white chamber probably adjunct to the showroom, a single slightly ajar door off to the side in an otherwise windowless room.

Beyond you and your resting place you see a small bowl full of complementary hard candies in many a color and shape deformed by cruel time, and what looks to be an antique pharmacist's cabinet with drawers annotated with the names of dozens of analgesics ranging from aspirin to heroin (and quite a lot of names you do not recognize at all, but which have a definitely alchemical sound to them), each apparently in its own compartment.

This was getting annoying, really.  Too much going on.  "I will be going up this ridge!  If you do not move, I will move you!"

No backing down.  Start edging way toward an upward ascent.  Don't just start swording, but self defense is okay.

[Parting This Sea Of Idiots: 4]

They are clearly not about to screw around with you as you advance, retreating into their little valley full of bushes as you make your way to the top of the ridge, overlooking the other side of the hill (not quite as steep as the one you climbed up on, but not by a considerable margin). You hear the sounds of an alarm being raised in the little valley.

If you had to guess from the clatter, it sounds like they're mobilizing for one last attempt to push you back. And this time they intend to do this with all the force they can muster.

[Following In One's Footsteps: 6]

Rather fortunately, though, your slow advance seems to have bought enough time for Gamble and quite a few others to have made it up the cliff, and most of them manage to rejoin you at this point in your position overlooking the valley. The climb went brilliantly well this time, Gamble says, no doubt the strength of your assurance has cowed the spirits infesting the ridge!

Treefishers decided not to follow mostly, says Tabernacle as you look over who all has arrived. Said they'd wait for more word from above. Can't rightly blame them, Silver adds, it's a little bit of a treacherous climb and he's fairly sure one of them broke a leg or two in the first attempt. Perhaps you ought to stay here a bit to let them catch up once they figure out a way to get everyone up. Maybe even some kind of-

Silver's words are cut off as a multitude of asynchronous war cries issues from the valley, a tribe massing for a charge as they begin to rain improvised javelins and what looks to be assorted garbage down on your position!

[Desperate Skirmish: 5 vs. 2]

Fortunately most of them are in a rather disadvantageous position to hit you, and most of the javelins seem to end up on the hillside as unskilled hands throw them wildly off the mark, pots full of various liquids shattering on the hillside and javelins clattering to the ground at unfortunate angles. The few that do fly far enough you manage to swat aside with another sweep of your sword that seems to outright dispel the projectiles rather than swat them aside.

Your eight companions pull out their various implements of murder as they take positions. Most of them look questioningly at you, some of them wondering what might have happened, a few (most notably Gamble, who looks eager to stand at your side) very obviously eager to get down to business and return the favor to these would-be kings of the hill.

Oh crap. Uh.

I lunge at the innkeeper with the intention of missing and giving her an opening to escape. After she's gone we can rest, and if she gets eaten by a monster in the night, that's none of our business.

[Running Interference: 4]

It's a very timely maneuver on your part as you draw the never-made scimitar and rush in, making it look reasonably probable that you cut off Oggie's own impending assault by accident as you menace the innkeeper while indicating with your eyes that now would be a really good time for her to make a break for the door. She looks bewildered by this, but seemingly takes the hint and makes a run for it.

[Taming The Beast: 4 vs. 4]

She rushes toward the exit and hurls the chair at Oggie desperately, your companion immediately arrested in her tracks by the thrown object as she grabs it and tosses it aside, only for the innkeeper to follow it up by pushing the doctor in her direction for good measure before bolting out of the door, running off rapidly to the south as quickly as her stubby legs can carry her.

Oggie seems to have half a mind to rush after her, but a shooting pain from her knife wound gives her enough pause to make her reconsider this as she sits down.

She looks at you, seemingly satisfied at this outcome. Much simpler, no? Would have been better to strangle life out of murderous stoat, but scaring away is just as good. No need to negotiate when in superior numbers. The doctor looks out the door at the fleeing innkeeper, then looks back at you lot horrified. There wasn't any need for that, she says a little quietly, the woman wasn't even very hostile by stoatfolk standards. What'll you all do when you get to Kingsbridge? There'll be a full garrison there!

[Out In The Wilderness: 4]

She sighs. Nothing to be done about it now though, right?

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