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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written  (Read 262218 times)

penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1650 on: October 01, 2016, 05:51:32 pm »

I'm not sure what's about to happen. I guess I'll just go with it.

"May your net swing true."
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1651 on: October 01, 2016, 05:57:42 pm »

"WILDE! SERIOUSLY! IF YOU'RE ABOUT TO DIE, BREAK IT! IT'LL SAVE YOU AND MYSELF!"

Well fine then, no easy way out I suppose. Stand up and make my way across there bridge before something else bad happens.
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1652 on: October 01, 2016, 11:10:57 pm »

"Ah!  An Englishman!  Yes, Oxford is quite the prestigious university!  Perhaps he would know more.  Ah, Mr. Wilde!  Perhaps you might know something of geology?  Why this earthquake is acting as it is?"

Ask.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1653 on: October 02, 2016, 08:34:24 am »

"The well and the sea are two sides of same coin. And it sucks on both sides."

It's a fine day for stupid plans. INEVITABLE way to safe(r) ground.

Speaking of two sides of the same coin!

INEVITABLE

[Word: 6]

The world begins to skip and leap where it once ran, swaths of ground disappearing beneath your feet, waves rising, your mind forcing winding bridges, the sea twisting them - you loop above the abyss, dance around the edge, nearing safe ground, but the sea edges forward, and it too crumbles before you. For the sea will advance, but by that same measure you will learn to sail it.

You go on for a time, but the ground gets no closer. Other things do, however. Boulders fall into the sea, and plumes of imitation light-rock rise like great fangs, shrubs give rise to streaking rows of deforming flora, iterating into uselessness before crumbling. You move for a time and find Lee by the edge, in the middle of running away. You call out, and she turns. You, she says.

You left something of yours with her. A crucial element of your fate. You move closer, and the sea does not advance, and you clamber up a short stretch of cliff to take up position by her side. She looks on in puzzlement at you, then at the stretch of land behind you.

You look as well. A furrow one and a half miles in length stretches behind you, glowing brightly as pieces of your mind bubble out of it and crawl out onto the land, shouting imitation Words at anything nearby with no apparent effect.

You feel a pull from Lee - the path of least resistance lies to the north. It is where the box pulls in an otherworldly sense, and Lee's own more humble ambitions line up with it perfectly.

Oh my. This doesn't look good.
One REVELATION as to the nature of the UFOs, please. Daniels can wait.

If ever there was a time for revelation, an apocalypse would quite literally be it.

REVELATION

[Word: 6]

You breathe in the news, and look to the horizon. The lights in the sky, inspired to debauchery, are coming to annihilate-

Mr. Wilde! Perhaps you might know something of geology? Why this earthquake is acting as it is? Instinctively you turn and begin to explain.

It's really very simple, and you explain to him the full reasons. Not in your own words, mind you. The Word speaks very much for itself. As such, you do get a little lost midway through. Suffice to say, the reasons are gravely unnatural. Somebody seems to have done the exact worst possible thing at the worst possible time. Presumably an ill-informed attempt at mining with equipment far exceeding the permitted stresses on reality of a certain area.

Anyway, you turn back toward the sky, the lights in the sky... huh. They're close enough to start making out now. You see sails on one, and a writhing draconic shape beneath them, trailed by a large illuminated blob with a horned figure the height of four men holding its reins. Distorted laughter begins to make its way to your position as distant echoes.

I'm not sure what's about to happen. I guess I'll just go with it.

"May your net swing true."

The fisher nods, and noiselessly swims closer, leaving you sitting in a patch of algae.

[Fisher's Hand: 1+1]

You look at the shape. Some kind of waterfowl. But... a bit too large to be a duck. The fisher prepares the net, then goes in for the catch. The bird spreads its wings as the net almost goes over, stopped before it is fully seized. And then the creature goes on the offensive!

[Defense of the Nest: 5+1 vs. 3]

Its elongated neck goes underwater, a powerful beak striking precisely into the shoulder of the fisher with a squelch that travels all too readily, the bird beginning to pull the fisher upward as she tries to resist. There is a splash as another bird of the same kind lands next to her and joins the battle, attacking the fisher in a similar fashion, well-conditioned for violence on both sides of the great divide. She cries for help as she thrashes with ferocity, her two assailants pulling her up with shocking, unerring strength.

"WILDE! SERIOUSLY! IF YOU'RE ABOUT TO DIE, BREAK IT! IT'LL SAVE YOU AND MYSELF!"

Well fine then, no easy way out I suppose. Stand up and make my way across there bridge before something else bad happens.

[Doing the Shimmy: 4]

Fortunately, the earthquake is calming down as you head on over the bridge, undulating in a way that makes the crowd on the other side clear the way and keep a constant distance of at least ten paces. Such suspicion, really.

Rather unfortunately, something is definitely coming this way. The crowd looks in fatalistic wonder as the lights in the distance take the shapes of living ships full of laughing, jeering raiders. A fleet up in the sky - they've never seen the like. And maybe never will again, if the detonations accompanying their periodic landings are any indication.

REVELATION

Mr. Wilde seems to be trying to find out more, and the blacksmith, Deirdre and Mr. Minstep have joined him. Wonder if they've discovered anything, though.

"Ah!  An Englishman!  Yes, Oxford is quite the prestigious university!  Perhaps he would know more.  Ah, Mr. Wilde!  Perhaps you might know something of geology?  Why this earthquake is acting as it is?"

Ask.

You go on and ask him, trailed by Deirdre and also the young raving lad, and suddenly

REVELATION

[Filtering The Input: 4]

He opens his mouth, and you behold a rather large fault in the ground, sepia-toned to establish distance. A large nordic man twirls his incongruously waxed mustache, and proceeds to pour a barrel of glowing waste into an opening leading into the unseen depths, seeping down toward a pulsing point of weakness, where it proceeds to spread! A cartoon barometer goes up and pings, a stream of exclamation marks running across the image in looping patterns as the picture begins to shake violently.

This has been a public service announcement - be careful when pouring unusual substances into sensitive locations! We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from the extradimensional entity that made it!

Informative, you suppose as Mr. Wilde closes his mouth and turns back to the sky, examining what looks like a strangely animate set of airplanes coming this way, making quite a good deal of ruckus. An air show, perhaps?

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)
« Last Edit: October 04, 2016, 08:46:41 am by Harry Baldman »
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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1654 on: October 02, 2016, 09:13:11 am »

((Whoopsie! Enjoy the ethreal viking raiding party, provided by yours truly. :D ))

I offer an explanation: "Magic."

Why is my mind all over the place? Get back in my head, please.

"To north we go. Straight like an arrow. The box is fine, I assume?"
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1655 on: October 02, 2016, 09:29:58 am »

Thomas stands there with his mouth open for several moments, before distracted by the show coming in.  "Uhm.  Er.  Yes, air show!  My, this performance keeps one-upping itself, would you not agree?"

An ancestral memory tugged at his arm, and Thomas pulled out the sword.  "Isn't this quite the show?  Yes?"

Unsheathe.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1656 on: October 02, 2016, 10:04:17 am »

No!

I imagine a powerful current pulling her and the birds underwater, and shout "SEA."
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1657 on: October 02, 2016, 02:11:15 pm »

"So. In the wake of that. If. I. MAY."

Grab the container from Wilde and smash it on the ground.
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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1658 on: October 03, 2016, 01:30:37 pm »

"Idiot."
Is there a forest or some other cover nearby (not the castle)? Because these people should be running towards it. Encourage them to do so. Oh, and ready the measure. Could work.
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1659 on: October 04, 2016, 10:02:10 am »

I offer an explanation: "Magic."

Why is my mind all over the place? Get back in my head, please.

"To north we go. Straight like an arrow. The box is fine, I assume?"

[Riding the Waveform: 4]

There are no doubt many reasons she would refuse to come along, not least of all an ancestral well-founded fear of the unknown, or the increasingly dubious and destructive nature of your sorcery, or even the fact that you clearly know even less about where you're going than you initially appeared to.

However, what it comes down to is this - she needs to be on the other side. She is carrying the box. You also need to be on the other side. So whatever arguments are made, inevitably they crumble, and all that's left is you, forging ahead on your bridges of memory, trying to stuff these wayward recollections back into your brain on the way - no need, really, they disintegrate perfectly well on their own if not made particularly durable by a very understandable purpose. And behind you is Lee, carrying the box for safety, treading as lightly as possible on these constructs of imagination and suggestible matter, batting away the moths that keep accumulating on her dress with extreme caution.

And in not too long (or very long indeed, all you know is you're ultimately there) it is done, and you find yourself hopping off on the other side, giving Lee a hand as she jumps off after you, your last suggested platform turning to tumbling grapefruits that erupt into hissing scorpions, a solid mile and a half of bright canyon now opening up behind you as time reasserts itself properly.

Right, you say as you turn to Lee, and note her walking very rapidly northward. Better move quickly, she says. Put as much distance behind this as possible.

Thomas stands there with his mouth open for several moments, before distracted by the show coming in.  "Uhm.  Er.  Yes, air show!  My, this performance keeps one-upping itself, would you not agree?"

An ancestral memory tugged at his arm, and Thomas pulled out the sword.  "Isn't this quite the show?  Yes?"

Unsheathe.

Somebody would agree, clearly. You don't quite see who, a bit absorbed at the moment. But you do draw your sword in its full length, pointing its blade up at the incoming airplanes. What shiny airplanes they are.

One would go so far as to say, in fact, that they are quite an interesting piece of material. Would you do one a favor and step closer? It looks like they are going for a buzz. Imagine if one could touch the bottom of the plane in passing - what a tale that would make, surely.

No!

I imagine a powerful current pulling her and the birds underwater, and shout "SEA."

You wonder if it works better from the inside.

SEA

[Word: 2]

The pond begins to wave and whirl as your Word resonates through it, the reflection distorting momentarily as the shapes of the swans become indistinct.

[The Sensation of Magic: 5]

There is a feeling that accompanies the deployment of a word, the feeling of meaning and purpose and subtle alteration (normally overshadowed by greater alterations yet to come) - simple enough for a human to explain away, or even ignore. But an animal, least of all a northern one, can ill afford not to fear such things, and both the swans, realizing in an instant that certain nesting spots probably aren't worth the bother of the water itself potentially betraying them, take off with a wild beating of wings, webbed feet tapping for an instant on the disturbed water's surface before they disappear into the swamp, presumably.

The fisher swims back to you in a lopsided manner, her shoulder considerably wounded by the vicious beaks of the swamp denizens - she swims to your side and floats up to the top, letting herself rest against it for now. Very close, she says. Would you believe? Two whole swans, about to make a nest. Very dangerous when approached alone. Many thanks for your help.

She straightens out. It is good to know for sure that you are a white mermaid, and that her good feeling did not lead her astray.

"So. In the wake of that. If. I. MAY."

Grab the container from Wilde and smash it on the ground.

He's already put it away, which means you're gonna need to search. Sigh. You shimmy up to his back and lean forward!

[Excuse Me, Sir: 1 vs. 2]

You go up to Mr. Wilde and are about to plunge your hand into his back, but he just puts his hand on your face and pushes you backward, causing you to double over and nearly tie yourself into a knot before flopping down on your face. Seems he's not in the mood for this kind of supernatural fuckery. Got magic shit of his own to do, mate!

Speaking of, what's that Mr. Minstep's got? Looks... very abnormal. A sword, but also something else? It makes your eyes tingle just looking at it!

"Idiot."
Is there a forest or some other cover nearby (not the castle)? Because these people should be running towards it. Encourage them to do so. Oh, and ready the measure. Could work.

[Sage Words of Retreat: 3]

You advise this rather motley crowd of people to start evacuating, pointing to the approaching bits of exploding countryside as evidence that things are about to take a marked turn for the worst. This is in and of itself perfectly reasonable, and quite a few folks present start running down the road as soon as you suggest it. Quite a few more perceptive others, though, are looking at Mr. Minstep, who appears to have drawn his very familiar-looking gray sword as he looks up at the sky. That, says Nately, is the look of somebody about to make things happen! Surely it wouldn't be wise to miss that!

Fortunately, only a couple more people seem to feel the same way, and most of the others do begin moving toward Anglefork - maybe they can get some raiding done before the day is through, the commander suggests, and the royal guards, some of them ushering ahead the queen, a few others going off to scout for any potential resistance, most others filing out in an orderly and organized fashion, notably among them Deirdre herself, who feels it best to maybe watch from a distance, if not head for Anglefork entirely.

That just leaves you, Mr. Daniels, Nately, a tall woman arrayed much like a knight, the old captain of the guard and a few of his associates, including a fellow with a shaved head and a scarified eye in his forehead, Mr. Minstep, his rather unnerving sword, and right next to you a somewhat grubby, barefoot woman wearing a rather tastefully folded and pinned sheet much like an evening dress, a smaller and much lovelier young woman dressed considerably more modestly tugging on her hand as she urges her to come along more than a little drunkenly.

[Excuse Me, Sir: 2 vs. 1]

In any case after warding off a peculiarly amorous advance from Mr. Daniels by grabbing him by the face and pushing him handily onto the ground you step forward, roughly in line with Mr. Minstep and the armored woman by his side as you bring out the measure. You stare ahead at the approaching figures. One great boat tumbling and waving through the sky, descending closer like a plane about to crash, a giant on a glacier of light riding not far behind. There is little doubt they've seen you. They begin to charge from half a mile, soon to bear down upon you!

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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1660 on: October 04, 2016, 10:49:09 am »

"Solid advice." One last glance at the canyon of bad ideas before following Lee's fine example.
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1661 on: October 04, 2016, 11:17:38 am »

"Fine, you did this to me you bear the consequences."

Clamber up onto the blacksmith's back and clamp my limbs onto his own. For instance, grab his hands from the back so I can crudely operate them, and approximate the same thing with my feet as best I can. He shall be my improvised puppet in the fact of what looks like this vaguely Nordic-themed extraterrestrial invasion.

Internally plot about stealing that sword to satisfy my budding kleptomania.
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XANTALOS, THE KARATEBOMINATION
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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1662 on: October 05, 2016, 11:31:33 am »

"What an interesting sword. Where did you get that?"
Let Minstep do his thing first. Wouldn't do to suck away that sword of his by accident, would it? Oh, and get ready to dive out of the way if necessary.
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1663 on: October 05, 2016, 05:16:47 pm »

"A what mermaid? And do you know where to find a healer? My magic doesn't help much with wounds."
« Last Edit: October 05, 2016, 09:03:29 pm by penguinofhonor »
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1664 on: October 05, 2016, 08:16:33 pm »

"This?  Oh, I won it as a prize in a fencing contest.  Quite fun, really!  It almost feels like it can touch the sky, now..."

Hold it up as suggested.  Just like the guys in high school slapping their hands on door overhangs and overhead signs and whatnot.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.
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