Pick up mirror frame and maybe the larger bits of mirror. Let's leave!
You grab the mirror frame and the sharp shards - no need to be careful, of course. You're not even sure it is physically possible for your rate of blood loss to increase at this point. The guard shrugs as you walk off. If he needs you, he can just follow the trail of blood, he reasons. Or better yet, send somebody with actual enthusiasm for this sort of work.
You head out through the keep's foyer, passing the priest. He looks at you with excitement, running off as you slowly trudge out toward the chapel. Not having any better ideas, you go over there and stand in the center of the room. The priestess seems to have gotten up and left while you were gone, you notice.
You're not sure how long you wait, but you feel different all of a sudden when next you blink. The priest is next to you, kneeling beside a bucket of mixed water and your blood, a rag floating in it. You have been wiped clean of blood, shards removed from your flesh and gathered along with the ones you took as well as some the priest must have taken from the keep. He is wearing your bloodied robe, and you are wearing his cleaner one. Quoting apocrypha under his breath, he seems to be working on you even now, taking shards of mirror, then working them into the fabric of your robe, after breaking them into progressively smaller pieces. Off to the side the mirror frame, now completely freed of mirror shards, is propped up against a wall.
As you become more aware, the priest notices the clearing look in your eyes. He looks almost inexpressibly joyful.
"Well done, my child. As the dusk arrives, your raiment will be done, prepared to catch the light as you step into the sight of the Sun and Moon. Are you prepared?"
It does not hurt as much as it did, you find. You guess being swabbed with a filthy rag and getting all the bits of silvered glass out of you worked wonders for your well-being.
I walk up to the two people. "Excuse me, but... can I have those rats? They, uh, belonged to a friend."
The woman does not seem to have any rats to her name, and merely stares at you with displeasure for a moment, then gets up and leaves on whatever business she was hoping to accomplish before this wasted serendipity.
Mr. Daniels, on the other hand, instead manages a polite refusal unless you were to provide something of equal or greater value in return. He does not bother to wait to see if you produce anything of that sort, instead just milling over to that circle of ominous stones you looked at earlier, looking contemplative of his prospects. He is soon joined by a tranquil-looking fellow with no shirt. As you look at him, he smiles and waves at you, inviting you to come over and join him.
"All right, progress! I now know I'm better than the typical level one RPG character.
...
Well, better get back to the ritual sacrifice or whatever it is."
Go back to the circle with my rats.
Replete with success you walk over to the stone circle, which is fortunately not very far at all. You are the first to arrive, soon followed by the man with no shirt. He looks pleased. Turnout promises to be reasonably good, though some of the people may be a little late, he says.
You present him your rats. He nods admiringly at the live one - that will certainly do. The standard offering, as it were. Though the dead ones - that is nice work, he says. Is that one strangled? Must have been delicate work. And the crushed ones - one with an application of great force, a kick perhaps... hm! Fascinating! And the other one with your hands, if he's not missing his mark. That takes talent, he says. Would you perhaps-
He pauses in his offer as he notices that woman who asked you for rats. He smiles and waves at her, motioning her to come over.
He turns back to you after a moment. So, would you perhaps be interested in a slightly greater role in the ceremony? They typically use a stone for it, but perhaps a set of talented hands would drive the point home even better? Hm, have you much experience in this sort of thing? Have you done any ritual work before, mayhap? And how do you feel about using your teeth?
Thomas frowned as he considered his situation. He was pretty sure the last thing he remembered was going to sleep in his bed in his apartment, so being in a bag did not compute. It certainly would not do. As most anyone would do, he called out.
"Hello? Who is out there? Please let me out; I have a 9:30 conference for the Soroz account. Mr. Munderly would be quite upset if I missed it!"
The dragging stops, and you hear a surprised "oh?"
You are poked with something that feels like a foot, and make an appropriate sound of displeasure, then repeat your request slightly more insistently.
"Eh? What's this, then?" asks a man's voice. "Rats aren't supposed to talk." A pause. "Wait, yer trying to trick me, aren't you? Bloody rats."
"Scratching? Oh, that's probably him digging his escape tunnel. He got nasty habit of swallowing his tool and vomiting it back up when something needs stabbing. Disgusting to listen and even more so to watch. Are you saying there's even more of them? And they are breeding? Holy shit."
((I see my wound is gone.))
They are breeding, yes, to the point where you have to pen them in so they don't get absolutely everywhere and mess up the life of good honest folk. It's bloody ridiculous, it is. Should just throw the whole lot into the Wondrous Land of El, see how those idiots like it. Not that it's
her choice or anything.
Anyway, digging an escape tunnel, you say? And... ew, that does sound really quite disgusting. And rather illegal. It's the duty of honest citizens like you and her to put an end to this sort of thing, clearly. Your cellmate bangs on the door and calls for the turnkey, who shows up in a moment, opening the door just a crack.
The lady explains that she has it on good authority that the dirty stoat in the other cell is up to no good. And that he's actually a dirty stoat. It was a bit inconsiderate to not inform her of this fact, she mentions. It is an affront to her residential dignity, she would say. He's apparently digging an escape tunnel as well, the sneaky bugger. And smuggling things in his filthy gullet, too. A tool of some kind, notably, for use in escape tunnels and the like. Distressing, wouldn't he say?
If he could, the turnkey would say so indeed. He seems quite excited by this news, you'd say, to the point where he forgets to close your door as he rushes straight out of the dungeon, presumably to get his superior again.
As the turnkey leaves and the outer dungeon door slams shut, you hear what you recognize as the telltale sound of the stoatman's jail cell being unlocked, its hinges creaking as the door swings open. If you had to guess, you'd say he heard all that just now. Your cellmate makes a slight sound of concern at this development.
Eric Codeburn, COMPUTISTICS SPECIALIST
- Wounds: 2 (alleviated)
- Perforated Burlap Sack
- Inscribed Brick ('Water')
- Anglefork Castle: Minister of Moronic Affairs
- The Impromptu Prophecy: A Transformation
- Sun-Priest's Robe (worn, transcendent)
- Adherents of the Great House: Enemy of Memory
- Well and Truly Narked Upon: 1
- Friends in Low Places: a Successful Transaction
Leif Erikson, Miner
- Reappropriated, Clean Skirt
- 1 gp
- Anglefork Castle: A Different Sort of Confinement
- The Box: On Stoats
- The Prison Stone
- Elongated Affairs: The Second-Degree Snitch
- Elongated Affairs: A Noble Task
- Elongated Affairs: The Numbers of the Stoat
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Queenly Garments: the Humble Dress
- Sticks: 0.95 (total)
- Rat Pantheon: Disliked
- Traces of Mischief: Mouthful of Blackness
- Anglefork Castle: the New Queen's Confidant
- Doomstones: An Interest
- Origins: Witness to Dissolution
- Tower of the Mind: Confusion
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Gravel-Ridden
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: the Sword of Destiny
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Something Profane?
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Something Priceless?
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Something Purple?
- The Apron of Mediocrity
- The Man With No Shirt: an Asset
- Doomstones: an Offer
- 2 rats, crushed
- 1 rat, strangled
- 1 rat, live
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- Naked
- Bagged
- Mistaken Identity: an Unspecified Quantity of Rats
Author
Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 264698 times)