Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 258235 times)

TopHat · « **Reply #1440 on:** August 11, 2016, 11:53:12 am »

"Well, I'm glad he's having fun. Best catch up later.
.
You know, Deirdre, I think I will be leaving soon, and taking up Nately's offer. Would you care to join us?"

Small talk. Wander over to the viscera zone if it's still there.

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #1441 on:** August 11, 2016, 04:22:34 pm »

Quote from: Xantalos on August 10, 2016, 03:14:45 pm

"I have it on very good authority that replacing or repairing my hand wouldn't damage the murder-thought. You can see how I might've thought you were trying to excersise some sort of control over me. I am interested in your offer of refining it, I must say, but I'd rather focus first on the armor. The sliver I have is somewhat immaterial, you should know beforehand. I'll show it to you nonetheless if it cooperates."

Take blacksmith off my 'potential murder' list, and if he agrees show him perfect SILENCE.

Whose authority would that be, asks the blacksmith. It would be useful to confer with someone who understands these matters better than he does, potentially CRITICAL, in fact, if he is to understand anything at all beyond his own lack of understanding. As for the sliver, go right ahead. Though sentient materials may be resistant to being hammered into useful shapes, bear in mind. You clear your throat as the blacksmith looks on, and then let it rip.

SILENCE

[Word: 5]

The courtyard shakes as all sounds dash once against the stone walls and are not reflected back, an alien stillness through which you hear your own steady heartbeat, the blacksmith's slightly more rapid pulse, Mr. Wilde's unhurried walking pulse, his companion's uneasier one, and the hearts of all the guards serving as a background din, and in between them the exultant triumph of the Worm-knight, the racing paranoia of an undressed guard, the clockwork drone of Mr. Minstep and the guard captain, and the slow, weak heartbeat of a stoatman probably not at all far from death.

All these beat on separately at first, then synchronize as they too become cognizant of one another, stopping in their tracks and looking around. The blacksmith, you notice, is a bit more purposeful. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but thinks better of it, instead sprinting off to Mr. Wilde and poking him resolutely, apparently quite interested in having him do something. The heartbeats begin to fade out as the courtyard looks on in wonder, and distant sounds begin to come in, the rushing of the river clearly heard, noises from the forest, the clinking of glass from somewhere further off...

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on August 10, 2016, 03:23:49 pm

"Perhaps lightsaber would have been better idea..." Leif sighs. He tries to enjoy some imaginary mead (non poetry variant), and climbs up to check whether it is morning yet or not. Also combine the iron spear head with improvised quarterstaff.

It's mead. Even your twisted imagination couldn't screw that up (only make it better, you think as you mentally fondle your poetry mead keg). You climb up the ladder to the hatch, and see if you can figure out the opening mechanism in the less than optimal lighting.

[Up The Hatch: 4]

Fortunately it's not at all complicated, and there's only about forty pounds of dirt that tumble down the ladder and into a convenient grate as you get out to give the outside conditions a check.

In short, it's really dark out. But doesn't seem to be getting darker. Does that mean that dawn's about to come? Would be about damn time. If only somebody else hadn't hogged the most relevant Word for it and then buggered off. Anyway, you need a new weapon, some sort of Gungnir thingamajig maybe?

[Don't Lose Your Head: 5]

You pop the spearhead onto your quarterstaff. Fits well! You wedge the staff in there nicely, and give it a few solid thwacks - doesn't come loose, and you think you got it on perfectly straight as well. As good a job as could be expected, essentially.

Quote from: Toaster on August 10, 2016, 05:04:15 pm

"Yes, yes, all in good time, but business first! We must deliver the report!" It wouldn't do to delay a report to Mr. Munderley. This is just the same idea.

Push on through, no time to waste!

They do seem very enthusiastic about their questioning. Must not have had much contact with the outside world. They trail you halfway across the courtyard, when suddenly you are struck by a profound

SILENCE

And what a silence it is. You could hear a pin drop, and you're fairly sure you actually do at one point.

[An Advantageous Distraction: 3]

You tap the Worm-knight soundlessly and indicate toward the keep. She taps the guard and does the same. All three of you begin to move forward with prisoner in tow and your heartbeats curiously in sync with those of the rest of the people about (quite a few, now that you consider it a moment longer.

Quote from: penguinofhonor on August 10, 2016, 05:26:29 pm

Hm, having a stoat friend seems useful around these parts.

"Yeah, I'm heading south. And I think I would appreciate some company on the road. When could you be ready to set out?"

He pats his chest with a hand, then roots down beneath his shirt with a clumsy hand, pulling out a golden pocket watch. Sweet, huh, he says to you as he starts fiddling with its clasp with a bare minimum of skill and coordination, getting it open after half a minute's effort. He stares inside the watch for a moment. Aha, he says. Hm! Yes!

Indeed, he says, nodding at you, he's bloody well forgotten to wind this thing. Oh well, he says, probably gonna pawn it anyway, dropping the thing back behind his collar. So yeah, what were you talking about again, he asks as he has another swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, offsetting it with a sweet potato he pops whole into his enormous mouth while providing you with another refill.

When was he going to set out, you remind him, and he thinks a bit. Wash go'a shet ouh ah dawwh, he says foggily. Maywee laher. Naw parhihular wush, y'ow?

Quote from: TopHat on August 11, 2016, 11:53:12 am

"Well, I'm glad he's having fun. Best catch up later.
.
You know, Deirdre, I think I will be leaving soon, and taking up Nately's offer. Would you care to join us?"

Small talk. Wander over to the viscera zone if it's still there.

She wouldn't have anything against going along with you, no, though Nately's a bit too weird for her liking. You really wanna follow that guy around, she asks, 'cause she honestly has him filed in about the same category as the sun priest. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. And she's heard he also did this thing a month or so back where he-

SILENCE

True to its Word, the courtyard suddenly settles down, commotion giving way to stillness, the current occupants of the area growing mute and quite surprised. Deirdre has stopped mid-sentence, having lost the will to speak momentarily. You stare at her, and she stares back, completely perplexed as to what to make of this, if anything. The only thing you hear for a moment are the hearts of all those within the courtyard, and, mysteriously enough, sounds from much further out than you would expect. You listen a moment. A singular experience.

There's someone tugging at your shoulder. Nately, it turns out. He points at your measure urgently. You look at him questioningly. He in turn sweeps his arm along the courtyard, lacking a more precise identifier from the looks of it.

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Toaster · « **Reply #1442 on:** August 11, 2016, 05:39:48 pm »

Thomas hurried along before the crowd caught up with events. No sense disturbing the nice quiet.

Get on with that reportery.

Xantalos · « **Reply #1443 on:** August 11, 2016, 05:50:16 pm »

Interesting.

I suppose I'll let him do his thing?
...
Nah, making sure Wilde doesn't accidentally delay him again would be good.

Follow the blacksmith about.

penguinofhonor · « **Reply #1444 on:** August 11, 2016, 08:54:15 pm »

"I suppose not."

More drinking, then!

AoshimaMichio · « **Reply #1445 on:** August 12, 2016, 06:11:18 am »

"Thanks to Brokkr, Eitri, Sons of Ivaldi and other master craftmens of gods, except that Völundr fellow. Creepy bastard, that one."

Dump that moldy fuel.

Now, my illusion techniques seem to be fundamentally fucked up. I suppose that what I get from being self-taught. I really need a teacher... And actual clothes. The skirt is all good but I'm not scottish guy. Freeballing ain't my style. And I really want try out APOCALYPSE, but it's probably bad idea with tunnels around. Leif gets a bit introspective. What I'm going to do with my life here? Getting back home would be great, but here I could have fresh start with impossible powers. Could be easily turned into more luxurious living than that of miner. Granted, it was most high tech mine in the world, but still in rather dangerous enviroment. And here's also that bastard in the well, probably wants to eat whole world...

Reconsider my priorities while staring stars.

TopHat · « **Reply #1446 on:** August 12, 2016, 02:29:40 pm »

Nod and unwrap the measure. Make sure not to point it at anyone, though.
Time to test this thing out.

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #1447 on:** August 14, 2016, 05:51:48 am »

Quote from: Toaster on August 11, 2016, 05:39:48 pm

Thomas hurried along before the crowd caught up with events. No sense disturbing the nice quiet.

Get on with that reportery.

You head on into the keep, unbothered by other occurrences in the courtyard, depositing him gently onto the floor of the foyer. This gathers quite a crowd in short order, including the commander, the minder girl, some of her apprentices and even the queen as well as some other whiskered fellow trailing behind her nervously.

The Worm-knight relays the overall state of the town, the uncommon fear and respect that the stout folk seem to have for your sword, and the capture of the prisoner. The commander seems rather pleased at the presumable numbers of guards present, and looks over at the minder girl, asking if she could oversee the interrogation. The minder girl looks uneasily at the stout prisoner. It would be most useful to have the services of the mistress of the tower, the commander adds, for the sake of both expediency and utility of information gained. The girl's eyes brighten slightly - yes, yes, she can certainly do this. Bring the fellow up, restrained, she and her fellow minders will do the rest, have no fear. The commander nods at the other guards, who carry the stout fellow up in short order, the minders following upstairs as well.

Very well done, says the commander, coming down the stairs with arms spread in congratulation. The queen follows as well, smiling at the lot of you. The Worm-knight kneels at one side of you, the guard merely cradles himself in his arms and shivers, still a bit wet from the river, which leaves you in the middle. The Worm-knight is quick to ascribe much of the work to you and the guard - she was merely along for advice and backup. The commander looks at the guard, and orders some others to go and outfit the man at once. His pick of the spare armaments and armor, of course. The guard widens his eyes as he is escorted off, looking at you in particular with a frightened eye. As for the Worm-knight, good work as always. She will be ready for the assault as well, yes? Indeed she will, the Worm-knight replies. Excellent, says the commander, and takes a moment to delegate the task of fashioning a crossing method to the majority of the guards present. They nod as one and go on to attend to the task.

And that leaves you, Mr. Minstep. The commander was under the impression you wouldn't be returning necessarily. Was there anything else you desire? The queen pipes up at this - whatever resources the kingdom can provide, what's left of them at least, ask anything, and she will personally do her best to assist. As will she, the commander adds with a nod. And he as well, the guy at the very back hastily mentions in a quiet tone of voice, placing his hands behind his back and standing at attention when the commander glances at him.

Quote from: Xantalos on August 11, 2016, 05:50:16 pm

Interesting.

I suppose I'll let him do his thing?
...
Nah, making sure Wilde doesn't accidentally delay him again would be good.

Follow the blacksmith about.

As he bothers Mr. Wilde, you notice the object being unwrapped - it's a human skull with eyesockets of glass, glimmering gold within, and something more beyond that as well. It twists and turns for a moment in his hands, and Mr. Wilde raises it to take in the courtyard. And then it begins. As if some floodgate were opened, you sense a wave of otherworldly, barely perceptible power creep forth, tendrils of it wrapping around the contents of the courtyard, lapping hungrily at the silence all about... and some other things beside that.

[Hide Your Valuables: 5]

It is at the very edge of the wave that your murder-thought feels a sudden, violent pull - you react immediately, pulling it back to you, your mutilated hand giving it shelter from the hungry tongues of the time-enders' measure. It sits there for a time, lacerating, tearing, creating agony as it was meant to do, but you weather the assault manfully, and in not too long the tongues retreat, taking the silence with them. The guards, no longer spellbound by its totality, take a moment to regard their surroundings, and give it little more thought.

Quote from: penguinofhonor on August 11, 2016, 08:54:15 pm

"I suppose not."

More drinking, then!

[It's Better Than Drinking Alone: 6]

You while away the hours in the inn as you go through what remains of the two half-bottles of whisky the stoatman has left - you marvel at his tolerance, to be perfectly honest, or at least his incredible ability to pace himself as he drinks and manages to polish off his dinner, as you do yours.

The conversation over dinner and drinks takes a variety of twists and turns. You continue an inquiry into the surrounding lands, still relatively clear-headed. He tells you a bit - normalcy (heh, is that a word? normalcy?) on the roads, weirdness beyond. Lots of quaint villages once you get beyond King's Bridge - there is one he went through, Middenay, he'll probably visit on the way back too, Middenay has a much nicer inn than this, he explains, no offense to the lady there (though you do get the feeling mild offense is nevertheless taken). It was kind of a big relief to get there the first go round - sympathizers, see, the lot of them, really hated that fecking lord of theirs, hated him like you've never seen... did most of the work in the end, too, prolly easiest battle of the whole bit. And after that, five whole days of revelry because they were ahead of schedule, see. Was great to see happy faces around for once, even if for a couple of days. Especially on those lovely girls they had there. Had a whole festival with the plundered riches, and plum pudding in the rations for two weeks afterward...

... what's with those weird animals on the wall, you ask at one point when the whisky has very solidly gone to your head. You feel like some of them are staring at you with their green glass eyes, the one unconvincing element that makes you suspect that the taxidermy might be off for the whole thing. Or maybe extremely off, because you can't even begin to suspect what these originally were if they're supposed to be common animals. The stoatman shrugs. Never seen any himself. Except... that one, he thinks, he points at what looks like a bearded, furry toad with a whole lot of tapering teeth. Those things come out at night mostly. Sometimes in the daytime when there's corpses about. Bugger if he can remember the name, though-

That there's the scraggy howler, the innkeeper mentions from behind the bar in a reciting, bored tone, following it up with a long drag from a bottle of wine she opened about twenty minutes ago and which now seems half-empty. Found the bastard digging up a mass graveyard about twenty years ago and with my manly skills I put the beast down with my she continues, rolling her eyes and making a yapping motion with her hand. Had to listen to this crap for nigh a decade. You look at her for a minute, and she just keeps silently drinking with a dead-eyed stare. So you try to think of what you were talking about...

... you're verging on completely pissed when you, the stoat and the innkeeper, the latter of which seems to have sat down with you at a time you can't quite place, are all singing a variety of songs. You teach them some of yours, they teach you some of theirs. Or the stoatman tries to teach you some of his, but the innkeeper seems to have banned all of those in her establishment because goddamn is she sick of all those, and instead goes for less common fare. She's got a really good voice, actually, you mention, and she swells with pride as she says thanks, used to be a professional, you know...

... and eventually you find yourselves before an empty table, the food finished and the alcohol depleted, and each of you on the verge of passing out. The stoatman says right! Now to retire to the, uh, sleeping quarters. Got a long day ahead of you. You look at the window, a little bit of morning light shining in your eyes. You barely manage to get to your feet. The innkeeper seems to be resting her head in your plate with a glazed expression, looking up at you.

To the ducal suite, says the stoatman, stumbling toward the stairs. First one there gets the double bed! Fuck you, shouts the innkeeper, half-falling out of her chair as she stumbles after him, she called dibs on that!

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on August 12, 2016, 06:11:18 am

"Thanks to Brokkr, Eitri, Sons of Ivaldi and other master craftmens of gods, except that Völundr fellow. Creepy bastard, that one."

Dump that moldy fuel.

Now, my illusion techniques seem to be fundamentally fucked up. I suppose that what I get from being self-taught. I really need a teacher... And actual clothes. The skirt is all good but I'm not scottish guy. Freeballing ain't my style. And I really want try out APOCALYPSE, but it's probably bad idea with tunnels around. Leif gets a bit introspective. What I'm going to do with my life here? Getting back home would be great, but here I could have fresh start with impossible powers. Could be easily turned into more luxurious living than that of miner. Granted, it was most high tech mine in the world, but still in rather dangerous enviroment. And here's also that bastard in the well, probably wants to eat whole world...

Reconsider my priorities while staring stars.

You dump some of your excess garbage into a convenient ditch, and look at the waning stars as dawn approaches.

[Astral Insights: 3]

Looking pretty starry there, yep. There's the, uh, Wheel of Time? Wait. You're pretty sure these aren't the right stars. Well, not any you've learned about at least.

As for priorities, you guess you still have two outstanding quests. Lee's report, and the grave of Red Clouds Parting. Although you could probably just run off right now and nobody could plausibly stop you. Or you could just say 'screw this' to this particular layer of reality and retreat into your own mindscape to master more and more Words and create a panoply of minder tools to render yourself into a god among men, and it occurs to you right now that this is probably what those minders in that tower back in the castle were doing. Huh.

Quote from: TopHat on August 12, 2016, 02:29:40 pm

Nod and unwrap the measure. Make sure not to point it at anyone, though.
Time to test this thing out.

[Consuming The Medium: 6]

Pulling the cloth from the heavy measure in absolute silence you notice it react, and raise it a little in response. It shakes as the scene warps in a cone before it, some ethereal disturbance spreading through the air, tickling the edge of all of your senses in a profoundly displeasing way. You sense it spread and envelop you, Nately, Deirdre, the nearby Mr. Daniels, surgically cutting the thick and mystical silence from the world, drawing it into itself. Time itself feels like it is congealing around you as the air is sliced with lapping tongues emanating from the measure. They envelop the totality of the effect and draw it into the measure with precision and efficiency, and the eyes of the measure, merely reflective up until now, begin to glow with amazing brightness.

It WORKED! Nately seems absolutely ecstatic. Now, he says, time for processing, analysis! Deconstruction! The joy of excellent equipment, he turns to you, patting you on the shoulder, nothing quite like it, would you not agree?

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penguinofhonor · « **Reply #1448 on:** August 14, 2016, 06:54:34 am »

I guess this party's over. What a night.

...

I crawl under the table and pass out.

AoshimaMichio · « **Reply #1449 on:** August 14, 2016, 07:47:29 am »

A god among men? Well, there's something that resonates in heart of any warrior. Even if the warrior in question is actually a miner and the last warrior in bloodline died few generations ago.

Leif sits down crosslegged, holding the spear vertically on my lap, taking meditative posture. Just so if anyone happens to look upon my form they see a warrior meditating rather than a random miner hobo sleeping in forest.

Break apart my minding techniques into basic components, study them carefully to determine what exactly I'm doing when using them. Mostly because I suspect my levitation trick is that. A trick played upon my own mind.

E: Drunken insights are best insights. Color my pondering with some mead of poetry.

Toaster · « **Reply #1450 on:** August 14, 2016, 07:49:33 am »

Thomas shrugged a bit. "Well, I couldn't really leave without getting that stout fellow back here. But yes, I must find my way home. It's been nice working you all, Ms. Queen, guards, Worm-Knight, and... I don't think I've met you, sir? I am Thomas Minstep."

Introduce self to new guy.

"Really, what I am looking for is a way to get home. No one really seems to know which way Albany is."

Xantalos · « **Reply #1451 on:** August 14, 2016, 12:10:44 pm »

Daniels positively zips toward Mr. Wilde.

"What is that thing? It's quite ... fascinating."

TopHat · « **Reply #1452 on:** August 15, 2016, 09:51:55 am »

"Wow! That's just incredible! How on Earth does it work? Oh, hello there, Daniels. This is the Measure Nately needed that gold for. It's quite something, isn't it?"
Enthuse, and wish I'd had one of these earlier.

Xantalos · « **Reply #1453 on:** August 15, 2016, 10:09:07 am »

"The fuck is a Nately?"

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #1454 on:** August 16, 2016, 07:12:46 am »

Quote from: penguinofhonor on August 14, 2016, 06:54:34 am

I guess this party's over. What a night.

...

I crawl under the table and pass out.

After some of the places you've tried to sleep the floor under the table feels positively warm and welcoming. Plus there's some food here if you're up for a snack. You curl up and close your eyes, and it feels like your brain lets out a wave of relief as the burden of remaining conscious is suddenly lifted. You pass out immediately.

[Great Way To Start The Day: 6]

When you open your eyes again, you see the orange light of the setting sun through the small crack between the drapes first of all. The second thing that hits you is an unusual smell. Is that... coffee? You stir a little sharply, and brush up against a pair of legs that seem to have appeared next to you. Their owner stirs, and turns out to be stoatman again. He sips from a cup of coffee and bids you a chipper good morning you wouldn't expect from a man working through one to two pints of consumed whisky. Not that you're feeling particularly out of sorts yourself.

You get up from under the table and, at the stoatman's invitation, sit down to the right of him and to the left of the innkeeper, who has a coffee of her own. She appears to be nursing the mother of all headaches, and bids you some manner of mumbling greeting, her face resting in her palm as she sips with the corner of her mouth. A breakfast of bread, butter and bacon assembled in a shaky hungover combination and a tankard of coffee, a little trail of brown along its side where it has been spilled in the process of bringing it here.

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on August 14, 2016, 07:47:29 am

A god among men? Well, there's something that resonates in heart of any warrior. Even if the warrior in question is actually a miner and the last warrior in bloodline died few generations ago.

Leif sits down crosslegged, holding the spear vertically on my lap, taking meditative posture. Just so if anyone happens to look upon my form they see a warrior meditating rather than a random miner hobo sleeping in forest.

Break apart my minding techniques into basic components, study them carefully to determine what exactly I'm doing when using them. Mostly because I suspect my levitation trick is that. A trick played upon my own mind.

E: Drunken insights are best insights. Color my pondering with some mead of poetry.

You'd only need two ravens and an eyepatch to complete this scene, you think as you swig the Mead of Poetry once again, the feel of it in your throat clarifying things, rendering them sharp and clear where once they were muddled, the Fates themselves revealing their forms to you.

[Deep Inspiration: 6]

As the sun rises before you and the moon fades from the sky, you open your eyes and take in the scope of all the colors, sounds and smells of awakening nature, the coolness of morning dew, the inevitable approach of a new day. You inhale all these and hold them in, then turn inward, skin diving into the depths of your own mind to atomize the notions of minding.

At the core is Perception. All things come from it and to it, and Perception is key to all things. From Perception springs Memory, which is Perception's abstraction. One step is required.

The rest is a sequence. First is Engagement, which begets understanding and communication. Once you have Engagement, transform it into Negation, which begets loss and darkness. Once Negation takes hold, introduce Abstraction, which affirms transition from one state to another. Once Abstraction has worked, create Prestige, and dictate reality within Perception.

A final illusion of distinction - there is the Self, and there is the Other. When taken together, the sequence tangles and twists. To simplify, remove one or the other.

As you consider this, the sun emerges fully from the horizon, and you are joined by Lee after a moment. The waning influence of the mead leaves you momentarily transfixed, the pattern of her dress mimicking something you saw in the stars once. She evaluates your strange stare, but seems to think nothing much of it as she takes careful stock of the surroundings. Soon after your backpack emerges swelling with pride, the simple joy of being able to climb a ladder again almost too much for him to handle.

Quote from: Toaster on August 14, 2016, 07:49:33 am

Thomas shrugged a bit. "Well, I couldn't really leave without getting that stout fellow back here. But yes, I must find my way home. It's been nice working you all, Ms. Queen, guards, Worm-Knight, and... I don't think I've met you, sir? I am Thomas Minstep."

Introduce self to new guy.

"Really, what I am looking for is a way to get home. No one really seems to know which way Albany is."

The whiskered man looks at you wide-eyed. He is, well, he is... he is the lord of the keep. And, yes, of course, he has, he has heard of your exploits. And he seconds that offer, anything he can do, anything at all. The commander sternly mentions the man already said this, and the lord responds by nodding intently. Yes, yes he did, and he will say it again if need be.

As for Albany, the commander shrugs. It is not a place she has heard of. She looks at the queen, who similarly has no idea, and the guards still present look at each other before mumbling variations of the same and shrugging. There is a moment of silence before the lord speaks up.

Er, he says. Well. Um. He does not know either. Perhaps, perhaps you could, well, perhaps you could ask Mother? She's, erm, very well, uh, very well read and, uh, knows a lot of things. She's very knowledgeable, he means. The commander looks at him grimly, but the lord persists. She has a special room, you could say, a special room down in the... well, there's probably no good way to put this, er, down in the dungeon.

Quote from: TopHat on August 15, 2016, 09:51:55 am

"Wow! That's just incredible! How on Earth does it work? Oh, hello there, Daniels. This is the Measure Nately needed that gold for. It's quite something, isn't it?"
Enthuse, and wish I'd had one of these earlier.

The core is sapient, Nately explains. It reacts to features it finds unspeakably intriguing - it is a primitive thing, so all manner of things are of interest to it. Its core of deep white sea encased draws in both events and matter, and grinds it in impossibility until the most basic elements remain, which for lack of a purpose and space then bleed out through gold and glass in ideal form, to be examined by men of science and wisdom, or ALTERNATIVELY those who end time itself! It remains to be seen how the information holds up! It will need to digest for a while - keep it covered until it begins shaking wildly, then stare into the SOURCE OF WISDOM! Or perhaps let him stare into it, that is perhaps a better idea that Mr. Daniels would be more comfortable with.

Is it safe to be in the vicinity when somebody stares into the SOURCE OF WISDOM, Deirdre asks with sarcastic air quotes. Nately laughs for a solid fifteen seconds, then looks to see if she's serious. He then proceeds to laugh again for a moment. No, he says. No, he would say it is probably not entirely safe. Deirdre, having already stepped over to the keep entrance, nods sagely at this.

Quote from: Xantalos on August 15, 2016, 10:09:07 am

"The fuck is a Nately?"

Nately appears to be the blacksmith's name, judging by the way the question causes him visible embarrassment, though he recovers quickly when Mr. Wilde's... personal assistant, you guess, asks a question that sends him into veritable fits of laughter.

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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 258235 times)

TopHat

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Harry Baldman

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Toaster

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Xantalos

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AoshimaMichio

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TopHat

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Harry Baldman

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penguinofhonor

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AoshimaMichio

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Toaster

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Xantalos

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TopHat

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Xantalos

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Harry Baldman

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