"Anyhow, I'm gonna go make a deal with a devil. Wait here, I'll help you out once I'm done."
Oh Mr Well, I have a deal to make with you...
You let Mr. Wilde stew in his boiling incredulity as you step over to the well, the darkness welcoming you with its ravening silence and oppressive omnipresence as all exits fade from sight almost immediately. You have something for it, and it is prepared to give something in return. That you do this expediently is desirable.
State a question. State a desire. Speak plainly and receive the same.
You know, now that I think about it, I feel like someone told me sleeping on a coffin was bad luck. I reach around to check for a better spot in the alcove, scoot over to it if I find one, and continue to rest either way.
[Superior Spots: 3]
Well, you could squeeze behind the sarcophagus. There's a little room. A tight fit, sure. But very definitely untrapped! And the confinement does you good, you believe. Keeps the organs all in one place better than just plopping yourself down anywhere would. You really needed a good setting of the organs in retrospect.
Granted, it's still a bit dusty. And cold. And unpleasant. And maybe just a little moldy. But it keeps your organs in place. How many other forms of shelter you've had could make that claim?
"Oh yes, I insist, I do enjoy a good story. The one of the King in Green sounds delightful. Really."
Story > Surgery
You look at the good doctor, who seems to have been tapping her knife against your throat with a thoughtful expression, having almost interpreted your momentary silence as implicit consent. You step back and clear your throat, reiterating that yes, quite, you'd like one of those stories. Not surgery, no. Really! She tilts her head for a moment, wondering if perhaps there is some way she could rationalize this as likely infestation by brain parasites requiring immediate medical intervention. It does not quite cross the edge of plausibility, it seems, for she lowers the knife and sighs at your emphatic pleas for story time.
Very well, she says. The King In Green, was it? Straight at the beginning - a very good place to start. There's a reason it's the beginning, after all.
But yes, she gesticulates with the knife in a sweeping motion. The King In Green. Probably powerful. Debatably mystical.
Possibly human. Almost definitely not actually dressed in green, traditionalist depictions notwithstanding. Poorly attested to by historical sources, though nevertheless almost undeniably present in records from El - the smidgen of doubt is there largely because the records are from El, and though their wondrous citizenry probably have no reason to particularly embellish the abilities of a non-hostile king, they have been known to lie in rare occasions on sheer principle. And really, enough spinning of potential motivations can justify
anything as she's sure you must agree.
Truth is in short supply about the King In Green. He presumably comes from the north. He comes and he goes. The natural laws of the north do not prevent such a thing even when frankly implausible. Each coming heralds a different age in Benzerwald. There have been five thus far according to modern historiography - the Primeval was the first, which ended when the King In Green carved out a kingdom in the foothills of the Corner of the World. Quite literally if you believe the words of El - their records indicate some sort of incredible cataclysm occurring in the area. A flood perhaps, or an upheaval of the earth. Likely a dose of outright impossibility was involved - this is quite uncomfortably close to the Corner in absolute terms, you must understand. Speculation varies, but the common idea is that the works of the King In Green, who apparently went to all the neighboring kingdoms to announce his conquest of the untaken land. The events are shockingly poorly documented, she admits, given that they occurred roughly two hundred years ago. And that's quite a liberal estimate. It probably does not help that a lot about the King In Green is very much inexplicable. Even the green has an unclear source.
Next, the good doctor says, her face flushed as long-forgotten excitement stirs within her, is the Imaginary period. This is another of those periods that conventional historiography has some trouble with - a common issue with a lot of history around here, but especially pronounced in this case. The trouble with the Imaginary period, as the name may imply, is that it appears to be entirely made up. Scholarly analysis would point to the King In Green once again as the likely cause. The Imaginary period is in fact one of the common proofs for his existence, as nobody appears to have any better ideas on how six thousand years of history under a glorious unbroken dynasty of legendary kings and queens could have been completely missed by the neighboring nations. It
is possible that the King In Green just deleted everyone else's history from the period, as some revisionist ideas state (in the interest of fairness, they believe). This is largely discounted as wishful thinking by more serious scholars. Only the tail end of the Imaginary period - the shadow of the King looming over a royal house simultaneously born and dying, as the legends have it - seems to have any basis in actual happenings, and the ending of the period coincides with the disappearance of the King In Green - she won't bore you with the dozens of hypotheses here, and will just say that not needing to obey the laws of physics does wonders for a historian's imagination.
In any case, this is not quite so relevant to the King himself. He is presumed to still exist, if probably not reign. He has not been sighted as of late - or perhaps he has, and nobody knew him for what he was. His presence has largely diminished in this Ordered final period. A healthy thing for record keeping, she cannot stress enough. Trying to place and date much of the Glorious or Interregnum periods can get rather nightmarish, to say nothing of the Imaginary period, which can become wildly inconsistent in its descriptions within even one source. Then again, she smiles, if such is the price one must pay for prosperity, however short-lived, she wouldn't mind a little complication in return for not being murdered by invaders.
Alcohol cures apathy. Alcohol is solution. Literally and figuratively.
Climb up the ladders to highest reachable panel and crawl into space behind.
You feel free to just bugger off from this weird place and try to get into a high crawlspace that hopefully leads to a higher place. To this end you build up your courage with another grapefruit. Feels a little like a drop in an ocean. Does snap you out of the desire to stand about and consider nothingness quite nicely, though. So off you go, to new and strange shafts!
[Labyrinths of Anglefork: 1]
The crawlspace you choose, however, leads at an upward incline for only about 20 feet before terminating in a sharp downward shaft, which is somewhat displeasing. You try backing up, and find that behind you there now appears to be a similar, but narrower downward vertical shaft, the appearance of which seems to have entirely slipped your hearing.
"You do realise what you just said, don't you? Stoatmen, magic, dealing with devils? Why should you expect me to believe you?"
Examine state of injuries RE bleeding. This is getting weirder by the second.
Mr. Daniels doesn't appear to care much about your objections, opting to dive straight into a black section of the wall in blatant disregard for the warning to be staying in away. As a silence falls upon the room you take a look at your poor bleeding hands.
[Insights Into Injury: 6]
You know, for something that had been bleeding for a good while before you tied it up you don't really see much blood on the floor. Glass, yes. Gold, yes. Blood, though? None of it seems to have made it onto the ground. Not a single, solitary drop.
You look at your hands. The blood-soaked burlap tied around each of them demonstratively drips on the floor, as if noticing your momentary concern. You wonder a moment if it would be strictly productive to doubt the honesty of your limbs, nominally under your control as they seem to be.
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: Two Paths, Both Downward
- The Voracious Dark: Two Deals Made
- The Voracious Dark: The Promised Sixth
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Wounds: 1
- 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: Perhaps Indeed A History
- 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
- The Mind, It Goes A-Wandering: 1
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- Naked
- Wounds: 2
- Burlap Foot Wrappings (worn)
- Burlap Hand Wrappings (worn)
- Blue Shards of a Probable Bottle
- Blue Glass Shiv
- A Wealth of Burlap Ribbons