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.
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.
"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!
"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.
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?
Leif Erikson, Miner
- A Word: INEVITABLE
- A Word: APOCALYPSE
- Mead of Poetry (7 shining revelations remaining)
- Enders' Friend: The Grave of Red Clouds Parting
- Small brass box
- Body Count: 1
- All Broken Up: A Miracle of Alchemy
- Reappropriated, Clean Skirt
- Inscribed Wooden Stylus
- Iron spear
- 1.03 gp
- The Box: ?
- Tower of the Mind: Convenient Relocation
- Induced Lucidity: the Aftermath, or the New Beginning
- Compatibility: Minding
- Tricks of the Mind: Cormick's Condescending Riddle
- Tricks of the Mind: Perceptual Rebuke
- Tricks of the Mind: Erikson's Inexplicable Grapefruit
- Tricks of the Mind: Speak With The Mob
- Tricks of the Mind: Headfirst Dive
- Tricks of the Mind: Lend Them Your Limbs
- Tricks of the Mind: Out of Sight, Out of Mind
- Tricks of the Mind: Erikson's Seeds of Discontent
- Tricks of the Mind: Glowing Looks
- Party in the Courtyard: Celebration in Earnest
- Never In: Swallowed By The Pit
- Gods of the Underground: Did You Just What
- Labyrinths of Anglefork: Tunnel-Literate
- The Voracious Dark: Two Deals Made
- The Voracious Dark: The Promised Sixth
- Moth's Flight: Preparations For The Return
- Troubles In Anglefork Town: More Lethal Than Anticipated
- The Secret Life of Stoats: Harnessing Potential
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Wounds: 1 (alleviated)
- In Living Memory: Honest Companion
- In Vino Veritas: Utterly Knackered
- The Doom Guard: Consorting With The Enemy
- Exotic serrated zweihander
- Reclaimed Hooded Robe (worn, torn)
- Inauspicious Day: Off Into The Horizon
- Giant White Mushroom
- A Word: SEA
- A Word: HUNGER
- A Word: CHAOS
- A Weapon: Explosive Cysts
- The Voracious Dark: Three Connections Given
- Tower of the Mind: There's Something To Remember
- The New Queen: And Something To Forget
- Body Count: 1
- The Impromptu Prophecy: ?
- Sweet Little Children: Fond Farewell
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Red and gold vest and breeches combo (worn)
- Leather boots (worn)
- 14033 gp (in sack)
- The Queen's Guard: Unusual Troublemaker
- Wounds: 2
- Powers of the Beyond: Gardener of Thoughts
- Dusty Wooden Speaking-Trumpet
- Crossbow Bolt (in throat)
- A Word: REND
- A Word: SILENCE
- A Weapon: Murder-Thought
- Traces of Mischief: A Bisected Left Kidney
- Traces of Mischief: Ruined Left Hand
- Uncoupled: Strength
- Wooden Door (held)
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: A New Direction
- Tower of the Mind: Endless Well of Mystery
- Induced Lucidity: A Garden Well-Tended
- Elongated Affairs: Enemy of the New State
- A Place In History: Vastly Unreliable
- Anglefork Castle: the Great Serpent
- The Obsolete Class: Suggested Victims
- 2 rats, crushed
- 1 rat, strangled
- 1 rat, live
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday ± 2 Days
- The Impromptu Prophecy: There's A Mountain Higher Than We Knew
- Doomstones: So High Up But Such A Bitter View
- The Majordomo: A Great Divide Between Us Now
- The Voracious Dark: Decreasing Demand
- The Voracious Dark: More Specific Requests
- The Good Doctor: A Recommendation
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- Troubles In Anglefork Town: Bearer of the Sword
- Wounds: 2
- A Word: ABSENCE
- A Weapon: The Sword They Fear
- Traces of Mischief: Nausea's Depths
- A Bowl, Black and Knobby
- Anglefork Castle: From Another Time, Another Land
- Gross Incandescence: Partly Illuminated
- Tight Leather Pants (worn)
- Incredibly Tight Blue Dress (worn, mutilated, mildly provocative)
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Saturday, July 24th, 409 S.D.
- The Majordomo: Busy Morning
- The Good Doctor: House Call
- The Queen's Guard: A Reward Well Earned
- Make A Man Out Of You: A Crowning Achievement
- The New Queen: Lasting Gratitude
- Tower of the Mind: Advice Given
- The Obsolete Class: Let Them Be
- The One They Fear: A Satisfactory Contract
- A Place In History: A Worthwhile Associate
- Body Count: 2
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- A Word: REVELATION
- Time-ender's measure (unwrapped, processing, 3 turns left)
- 10 m of rope
- Half a candle
- This Is The End: A Grim Prophecy
- 1 rat, skinless and smoked
- 6 gp
- Poor Misshapen Dice
- Lock of Hair (unidentified)
- Iron nail, unused
- An Inauspicious Key
- Burlap Foot Wrappings (worn)
- Burlap Hand Wrappings (worn)
- Moth-Eaten Hat (worn)
- Respectable Brown Skirt (worn)
- Old Brown Waistcoat (worn)
- Bright Yellow Tunic (worn)
- A Wealth of Burlap Ribbons
- An Obsolete Class: Trustworthy Individual
- The Flip Side: the Denouement
- The Doom Guard: The Inquisition Moves On
- Tower of the Mind: An Interruption
- A Frightening Door: An Understanding
- The Voracious Dark: Backed Away
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Future Hopes