"Well, I've heard a great many stories today. I suppose I could hear one more. Show me the way, perhaps?"
Find her. Listen to story politely.
Oh, certainly - she's right down the hall over there. Yes, right there in that closet-looking place. She ought to be inside, the majordomo says, and as you open the door you find that he seems to have been entirely correct - the closet seems to be inhabited by a young black-haired woman (not much of a resemblance to the majordomo, which bodes surprisingly well for her overall looks) who seems to have completely ruined the body of a large rat, each little bit of it cut off into the closest thing resembling a discrete piece and all the similar-looking pieces laid down in small orderly piles on the stool serving as her preferred surgery location. She seems to be in the middle of reassembling it in a manner similar to a jigsaw puzzle, an endeavor you begin to have serious doubts about within seconds of figuring out what the hell she's even doing. Heavens, she even seems to have sliced up the skeleton into shards with that wicked-looking knife of hers. You're not even sure how she's been doing all this, considering that most of the light in here seems to have come from you opening the door.
[The Good Doctor: 6]
You clear your throat and the doctor looks up immediately with a genial look on her face. You seem profoundly disturbed in some non-obvious way, she says. Would you care for a comprehensive medical examination so that she may better analyze your ailments? She is sure she can help.
Actually, you attempt to deflect the question, you're here for a story. Nonsense, she replies. That right there, she points her knife vaguely in the direction of your neck, that right there is discoloration of the jugular. It could be very serious, don't you know. And that looks like a small bump under your eyelid. She'll need to look at that too. Take a seat, she points at the stool and- oh wait, she says, brushing the bits of rat off the stool and to the floor, a tiny smear persisting on the surface. Yeah, take a seat on the stool and she'll take a more in-depth look. Can't have the violently ill wandering about, now can you?
Gah. Okay, I should probably rest, but this thing might be the reason I came down here... I try to carefully remove the sword from the trap.
[Classical Mechanics: 1]
You have two options that you can see - removing the blade from the trap and removing the blade from yourself. You attempt to do the former, but the somewhat awkward way it's lodged in your torso makes this difficult. You kind of rub against it and the inadvertent sawing motion sets your ribs on edge and sends a shooting pain through your abdomen that makes you wonder if trying to remove the sword without any form of tools on hand is a good idea.
... giving it some thought, you suppose probably not - it's not even a whole sword, just a blade attached to an unfolding metal arm that runs from a currently open ceiling panel, held together admirably well by expertly crafted parts. A little creaky, perhaps, but that's to be expected with traps of this age.
"This is vexing, priesty, let me tell you. I need this window yet it's fixed in place.
Hmm. Though perhaps this would work; technically a broken window is priceless because it isn't worth anything. If I deliver some fancy enough shards from both windows that should fulfil the condition.
Unless you know of anything else that's priceless around these parts?"
Does Priesty know of any priceless things that aren't the window? If not, contemplate the best way to shatter it so that I get some cool-looking pieces.
[Ruminations On Theft: 2]
Well the priest is of absolutely no help. He just stares at the broken window, wondering in his heart of hearts why somebody would perform such a horrible, pointless act of destruction. Doesn't even seem to notice your question, the self-absorbed tit. Anyway, you consider how best to break the other window. But with style, you know?
[Ruminations On Vandalism: 4]
What makes a thing priceless, truly? Quality? Permanence? Rarity? Probably not - these make things valuable. What defines something
priceless, though... why, irreproducibility, wouldn't you say? A priceless thing is something you cannot create or recreate. Once a priceless thing is gone, it can never return. This is its appeal - exclusivity, no?
Spit down and listen. Calculate length of the drop based on sound and whether it solid or liquid on bottom. If solid and not too far, then drop down landing on my feet like a cat. Otherwise back up all the way and try southern crawlspace.
[Phlegmolocation: 6]
You send out a thick probe of all the mucus you can muster into the dark, assuming that if you do hit something, it's pretty likely you'll hear it. It impacts the floor with an almost meaty splash, letting you know very clearly that the floor isn't really that far off - the floor is wooden and probably no more than five meters down.
Assuming your estimate to be perfectly accurate, you forge ahead and fall out of the hole with all the grace you'd expect from a shitfaced neo-viking, executing a perfect five point landing with all four limbs and your face. Absolutely nothing important is hurt as a result.
You get up after some effort. A lot roomier down here. Your thoughts are echoing slightly. Pitch-black fields of jack shit stretch as far as the eye can see.
It worked? It worked! But does it work, I wonder?
Empty out another sack and test out the new shiv by cutting arm- and neck- holes. Then cut some more strips from the first sack to use as bandages.
[Papa's Got A Brand New Shiv: 6]
It cuts! It cuts and it cuts, and it cuts until you can cut no more. The good news, you find, are that you have plenty of grubby, non-sterile burlap ribbons that ought to serve as perfectly good bandages according to your best wishful guess on how medicine works. The even better news are that you could probably pretend to be a mummy if you got all your ribbons together and tied them on nicely. You got one really long one from one particular sack that you just did up in one ribbon. Very handy work there.
Your ambitions of a burlap minidress, however, are not to be, as you run out of material before your better judgment kicks into gear. You observe the ridiculous amounts of dusty lucre now littering the floor with mild, largely unrelated disappointment.
Leif Erikson, Miner
- A Word: INEVITABLE
- Wounds: 1
- Reappropriated, Clean Skirt
- 1 gp
- Anglefork Castle: A Free Man
- The Box: ?
- Tower of the Mind: a Lack of Patience
- Imaginary Inebriation: South of Sobriety
- Induced Lucidity: the Burning Church
- The Prison Stone
- Elongated Affairs: A Noble Task
- Elongated Affairs: The Numbers of the Stoat
- Compatibility: Minding
- Tricks of the Mind: Cormick's Condescending Riddle
- Tricks of the Mind: Perceptual Rebuke
- Tricks of the Mind: Erikson's Inexplicable Grapefruit
- Party in the Courtyard: Celebration in Earnest
- Never In: Swallowed By The Pit
- Gods of the Underground: Did You Just What
- Labyrinths of Anglefork: the Quiet Place
- The Voracious Dark: Two Deals Made
- The Voracious Dark: The Promised Sixth
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Wounds: 3
- Naked
- A Word: HUNGER
- A Word: CHAOS
- A Weapon: Explosive Cysts
- Rat Pantheon: Disliked
- Traces of Mischief: Mouthful of Blackness
- Origins: Witness to Dissolution
- Tower of the Mind: There's Something To Remember
- The New Queen: And Something To Forget
- The Queen's Guard: Bringer of Doom
- Gross Incandescence: Crumbling Shell
- Touch of Flame: the Secrets of Flammability
- Inscribed Brick ('Water')
- The Voracious Dark: Two Connections Given
- Body Count: 1
- Never In: the Obvious Candidates
- Labyrinths of Anglefork: Tomb of the Valiant Knights
- The Impromptu Prophecy: the Sensible Solution
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Voluntarily Naked
- Traces of Mischief: A Bisected Left Kidney
- Uncoupled: Strength
- Wooden Door (held)
- The Majordomo: A Most Displeasing Brigand
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: the Sword of Destiny
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Something Priceless?
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: An Unspeakable Garment
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: A Profane Megalith
- Tower of the Mind: Endless Well of Mystery
- Induced Lucidity: A Garden Well-Tended
- Doomstones: ?
- A Place In History: Emergent Abomination
- Anglefork Castle: the Great Serpent
- 2 rats, crushed
- 1 rat, strangled
- 1 rat, live
- Touch of Flame: the Second Degree
- Gross Incandescence: Unilluminated
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday ± 2 Days
- The Impromptu Prophecy: There's A Mountain Higher Than We Knew
- The Voracious Dark: Two Connections Given
- The Good Doctor: A Recommendation
- Body Count: 2
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- A Word: ABSENCE
- Anglefork Castle: From Another Time, Another Land
- Gross Incandescence: Partly Illuminated
- Tight Leather Pants (worn, wet)
- Incredibly Tight Blue Dress (worn, mutilated, mildly provocative)
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Friday, July 23rd, 409 S.D.
- The Majordomo: A Fresh-Faced Lunatic
- The Good Doctor: A Prospective Patient
- The Queen's Guard: Okayed by the Queen
- The New Queen: Within the Margin of Sanity
- Tower of the Mind: the Quest for Signage
- Body Count: 1
- Army of the New State: 455 Stout Strangers
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- Naked
- Wounds: 2
- Blue Shards of a Probable Bottle
- Blue Glass Shiv
- A Wealth of Burlap Ribbons