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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written  (Read 263481 times)

Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1770 on: November 03, 2016, 09:47:51 pm »

Daniels pauses suddenly.

"Wait, you're not trying to kill me for obliterating your face?"

What's all this about?
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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1771 on: November 03, 2016, 09:51:31 pm »

"Yes, an earthquake!  And some sort of light show.  No big deal, really.  Yes, I'm sure she'd love to go with you!"
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
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penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1772 on: November 04, 2016, 01:18:33 pm »

"Uh huh." What, is this guy not afraid of weird magic shit? His problem, I guess.

I look back at the doctor. "Where are you trying to go? We can probably head over there after the 'light show' ends."
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1773 on: November 05, 2016, 10:32:49 am »

"No shit, you folks have very good eyes." Leif says with genuine respect. "I wish my nigh vision was as good as yours. Oh, Rose? Strong type, rich and orange flavour please. I want to taste all variants eventually, but let's start with those."

Turn around and try to see who's scratching me.

It's really a matter of practice, and honing your sense of touch, Rose comments quietly as she rifles through the supplies. Aha, here's a strong orange, and now for the-

Rose, you hear a voice rasp as you turn around, causing Rose to immediately cease all motion. The long fingernail loses contact with your shoulder for a second before it and two more gently tap on your face, scratching at both temples and your chin in a way that tickles more than a little. You squint your eyes at the dark and you see that these seem to belong to two rather long, bare arms, their owner looking you over as she clicks her teeth together.

What is the meaning of this, the healer asks rather sternly. Why is this differently-fleshed stranger here? And why is she stealing supplies on his behalf? You hear Rose shuffle a little. She wouldn't call it stealing, it's just... treating a guest? You seemed to really want a drink, and she thought it her duty to accommodate you, and that's perfectly all right, no? She seems to grow increasingly unsure as the healer does not reply.

[Plight of the Otherfleshed: 1]

Out with you, the healer says through her teeth as her hands retreat from your face. The supplies are for disinfection and formulation. Not inebriation. Rose will stay here. Words must be had, she says, and you see a strange glint not just where you'd expect her eyes to be, but at several points on where you surmise the rest of her occupies. You hear Rose start to quickly put the things she's hastily grabbed back into their proper places, remaining completely silent.

"What the hell was that for? I'm trying to help you!"
You know what? If he's going to be like that he can jolly well forget about getting any useful information out of me. That'll teach him. Next message?


((I'm afraid that I'll be off until Monday once again, unfortunately. Any semblance of an action plan has recently been smashed beyond all recognition so not much to put on that front, sorry.))

Mr. Daniels is strangely convinced by your refusal to play his game, and comes around in a way that you find peculiarly difficult to resist. He dares not look directly your way, and your approach causes him obvious physical discomfort. So much like ripping off a bandage, you decide to get it done quickly. You let go, and the message surges from you.

[Words of Wisdom: 2]

Your words sit on top of other words, so much information to relay, so many perspectives, so many varying signals! Like the breaking of a dam the message pours out, about as intelligible as a flood and as meaningful as a book set on fire. Mr. Daniels shrieks as he involuntarily looks at you, the rift in your face catching him as if in a spotlight, growing brighter and brighter as the signal reaches a crescendo. Your throat feels like it's full of molten gold as you scream the final manifold syllable, and a flash of light envelops the nearby area, and space caves in around you in a soundless cessation of experience.

You wake up much like you passed out, screaming and electrified with revelation. You stand with arms outstretched in a clearing. Night has fallen, your face casting a bright beam on your surroundings, which look like they were scoured by lightning, tree trunks split and wildlife laying charred and cooked on the ground. You stop screaming as you run out of breath, and the light from your face lowers as you suck in the cool night air through it, your repurposed airways humming as you try to get a sense of where you might possibly be.

Thomas thought for a moment.  "Oh, the lord of the keep?  He's well, just saw him yesterday, before the castle... fell over.  His mother, I guess your grandmother then, was able to get out safely as well.  Got her her clothes and things and she left the castle before it fell.  Nice lady, really.  But yes, I am going north past Elizabeth, but I can accompany you if you'd like."  He sighed a bit.  "I suppose I should offer to take you to Anglefork southward if you would rather and need my help.

He looked up at the calling.  "Or yes, Ms. Minett!  She'd take you to Anglefork if you rather.  Yes, Ms. Minett!  There was an earthquake.  The castle fell over a bit.  I believe your friend here the doctor may want an escort!

Take the doctor northward with me if she'd like.  Pawn her off on Ms. Minett otherwise.

No, no. Not the lord of Anglefork. The majordomo! But wait, the lady of Anglefork, you say she escaped? The doctor looks around worriedly. That's- okay, it doesn't actually matter. Look, she says, trying to center herself in the midst of all this confusion.

[Relevant Information: 2]

Look, she says. Look, she repeats, still not able to think of how to finish or perhaps even start off the thought. She gets lost briefly as she notices the arc in the sky flash before starting to fade. Look, it's probably important that she get to a safer place to think all of this over. And maybe find something more robust than a bedsheet to drape herself in. She lifts up her foot a little. She doesn't even have any shoes, for pity's sake. This is no way to be traveling.

She pauses. Would you happen to know where she could find any clothes, perhaps? Anglefork Town is looking a little bit... ruined from here as well, and the castle is similarly a no-go.

Daniels pauses suddenly.

"Wait, you're not trying to kill me for obliterating your face?"

What's all this about?

It's painful to try to look in Mr. Wilde's direction, and unpleasant to feel him come closer. But you are intrigued, and this momentary pause is all he needs to get close enough. You listen, and he speaks.

[Words of Wisdom: 3]

The oscillating wave of light goes mad before your eyes as he rants defiant of reality and logic, the signal overpowering your senses and threatening to squeeze your brain out of your skull by the sheer forceful drive of its information burrowing into your mind and overflowing. You flail and let your murder-thought fly to make it stop, but Mr. Wilde is impossible to hit, his silhouette indistinct, blending with the wave, as much a figment of your imagination now as anything else you think you see.

The message is hard to grasp, continuing in circles and coming from many directions, containing multitudes of threads and thoughts tied into knots beyond comprehension or unpacking as it overwhelms your interpretation. What little makes it through is admonishment - you fool, north, lights, doom. And it only grows more incoherent still, referring to concepts you have not the sensory ability to even guess at, let alone understand, layers and levels bleeding in as something not at all Wilde, but something undeniably related in some nebulous fashion, screams at you, screams at El. The message travels through infinite configurations, and for an instant it comes into focus, and three thoughts exactly resolve themselves, a mere sampling of a vast signal that washes over your mind.

El has no king. El has no secrets. El has no purpose.

Mr. Wilde, glowing with pent-up energy, flashes with light, the rift on his face a perfect imitation of the wave in your sight, and from residual revelation you feel an unnameable change permeate the air as you are blinded for a few seconds.

When you can see again, Mr. Wilde is utterly gone, the only trace of his passing being a blackened scar on the ground.

"Uh huh." What, is this guy not afraid of weird magic shit? His problem, I guess.

I look back at the doctor. "Where are you trying to go? We can probably head over there after the 'light show' ends."

She doesn't know! Things have, she admits, stopped making much sense even in the nonsense kind of way they did before. She'd like to check if her father's all right, and get some clothes. Maybe shelter as well. Honestly, you look like you could use the same thing. So, she shrugs, maybe you can look together? Mr. Minstep seems quite set on going northward, but she thinks she speaks for both of you when she thinks that the north is no place for people to be around without any form of clothing or supplies. Joining the Rabbits is a doubtful proposition at the best of times - this is just asking for death by exposure or worse, capture by roving clanfolk.

On the bright side, though, the light show seems to be ending on its own, she points at the sky. At least she thinks it's ending - her astrological education, while comprehensive, sure as shit didn't cover anything like this.

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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1774 on: November 05, 2016, 11:41:12 am »

"Oh come on now, you are a hypocrite if you claim you wouldn't be sampling your own products. No healer would have that big variety of spirits if not for sampling their own medicine. So why not share a little? I can offer some good vodka fruits of my own in exchange, even if it isn't exactly real."

Accusation of hypocrisy.
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1775 on: November 05, 2016, 11:42:20 am »

"...fucking ow.

I suppose that was telling me not to go to El. Or something. North doom lights? Fucking ... better not be more of those damn flying Viking shits."


Take what parts of the message got through and put them in my well-given extradimensional thought storage space. Then head ... I dunno. Message said north, but I'm still a bloody noodle for the most part, I need a meatshield if I'm gonna be travelling alone. Head to Anglefork town, I suppose.
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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1776 on: November 05, 2016, 11:53:39 am »

"Oh, right, of course, excuse me.  Um... I'm not sure that I did?  I'm sure he left with one of the big groups, though.  And... clothes?  All I really have is what I am wearing, though I could give you this shirt if we could get it off.  It's a bit tight.  Otherwise, I'm headed north to uh... To Be Announced?"

I didn't see him, did I?  Offer anyway.
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penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1777 on: November 06, 2016, 07:43:11 am »

"Hm, clothes are definitely a priority. Do you know of any other nearby towns or settlements?"

While we're talking I briefly peek out of the ditch to see if the rainbow is still doing its weird invasive magic thing.
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1778 on: November 06, 2016, 09:11:27 am »

"Oh come on now, you are a hypocrite if you claim you wouldn't be sampling your own products. No healer would have that big variety of spirits if not for sampling their own medicine. So why not share a little? I can offer some good vodka fruits of my own in exchange, even if it isn't exactly real."

Accusation of hypocrisy.

Supplies are scarce, you should not be here and time is short. Leave. Your prattling irritates her.

[Out With You: 5]

You feel the healer stare at you with many inhospitable eyes, stepping soundlessly between you and the rest of the tent. However, she seems either unwilling to eject you herself or fairly confident that she would be unable to do so on her own. However, something about her stare does tell you she's the sort of clanswoman that would be rather unwise to annoy unless you're entirely unconcerned with wearing out your welcome.

"...fucking ow.

I suppose that was telling me not to go to El. Or something. North doom lights? Fucking ... better not be more of those damn flying Viking shits."


Take what parts of the message got through and put them in my well-given extradimensional thought storage space. Then head ... I dunno. Message said north, but I'm still a bloody noodle for the most part, I need a meatshield if I'm gonna be travelling alone. Head to Anglefork town, I suppose.

Planting messages in your garden of souls is like sticking hams into flowerbeds, charmingly quaint yet completely unhelpful, at least for what you're trying to do. Not to mention trying to memorize and repeat the mental equivalent of white noise, which rather compounds the issue. The signal was there, and now it's gone. What you could take with you, you already did.

So instead you head into Anglefork Town, which seems to have mostly collapsed. You pass several outlying farms currently in the process of being looted by the cartload at the hands of the royal and castle guards assisted by ravenous castle residents chasing stoatman stragglers and their human sympathizers (or, well, people they'll call sympathizers when anyone asks) and beating them with whatever they've managed to catch on the way. Scenes of wolfpacks of starved servants kicking the shit out of defiant farmers mingle with frightened townsfolk carting out stores of meat and wine from remaining uncollapsed cellars to gangs of guards rubbing their hands with bared teeth and eyes like dinnerplates, and following the overall procession of goods leads you deeper in. Every now and then you pass a tree from which the thoroughly looted body of a stoatman is unceremoniously hanged by its feet, each bearing its very own creative variation of stab wounds, dismemberment and fresh blood that's by now stopped pouring from empty arteries. You pass one tree in particular where what must have been a whole militia patrol hangs side by side, their surrender having no doubt made stringing them up a simple matter.

Eventually you come to the nerve center of this atrocity in progress, where upon the ruins of the town hall the young queen, the lord of the castle and a cadre of the least aggressive servants are holding an awkward picnic as their minions bring back supplies and goods, piling barrels and sacks into whole mountains of loot. The queen and her adjutants appear to be doing their best to try and ignore the bloodstains on quite a few of the supplies with the help of a polishing line of servants with trusty rags, but their worried looks speak to you of a certain distaste for the whole affair. Or maybe for the line of well-dressed stoatman prisoners kneeling by the hall, watched very carefully over by spear-wielding guardsmen who patrol at their backs while the minder girl and her few remaining students float along the front, passing their hand over their black-bagged heads unsteadily every now and then.

It's a busy evening in Anglefork Town, and from the shouting and motion emanating from the direction of the docks you gather there is still some sort of fighting occurring.

"Oh, right, of course, excuse me.  Um... I'm not sure that I did?  I'm sure he left with one of the big groups, though.  And... clothes?  All I really have is what I am wearing, though I could give you this shirt if we could get it off.  It's a bit tight.  Otherwise, I'm headed north to uh... To Be Announced?"

I didn't see him, did I?  Offer anyway.

Keep the dress, Mr. Minstep. It seems like you've grown into it. Or at least torn it to accommodate your... proportions, no offense. She'd rather find something less used, if you don't mind. Good luck on your travels - the North could use more friendly souls like you in its high wilderness.

Word of advice, however, Anglefork is the last civilized place you are likely to run into before Elizabeth - they were planning to make another outpost to the north as the road grew longer, perhaps all the way by the great notch - this was before the kingdom collapsed, however, so temper your expectations. The place was not in frequent communication with the rest of the country even before the splintering came to a head.

"Hm, clothes are definitely a priority. Do you know of any other nearby towns or settlements?"

While we're talking I briefly peek out of the ditch to see if the rainbow is still doing its weird invasive magic thing.

Anglefork is just over that way, the doctor points southward along the road. Other than that, there may be outlying villages and farmsteads, but those tend to be... peculiar. Or meticulously hidden. Or both. Often both. The wilderness becomes increasingly unsafe the further you get from castles and roads, and its inhabitants increasingly unbound by good sense and the laws of physics, and that's when they haven't been subsumed by Stork changelings, ruined by a Dragon deep raid, made destitute by Monkeys, driven mad by the nearness of the Corner or run off to try and invariably fail to join the other unintegrated for safety. It's a societal ecology as old as the Interregnum, and infrastructure has done little to soothe the troubles of those desperate enough to seek their fortunes there.

As she speaks, you peek out from the ditch. That rainbow seems to have dimmed significantly, and only seems to be subsiding further. It seems relatively uninterested in you, fortunately, and appears to have conducted its pressing business adequately enough.

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« Last Edit: November 06, 2016, 09:13:26 am by Harry Baldman »
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1779 on: November 06, 2016, 09:59:59 am »

"Ah, well, thank you for your advice.  Good luck on finding a shirt!"

Onward to TBA!  Maybe even for real this time!
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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 #1780 on: November 06, 2016, 11:26:53 am »

"I guess we should look for clothes in Anglefork then. And maybe we'll run into someone there who's seen your father." I hop out of the ditch and head south towards the town.
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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1781 on: November 06, 2016, 12:14:38 pm »

*Sounds of disappointment*

"Fun hating brunnmigi.."

Wander back to where I left Lee and cover my growing disappointment with healthy dose of vodka fruits.
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1782 on: November 06, 2016, 01:46:51 pm »

"Hiya queen. Oh and look, everyone else too. Right, right, good. Someplace to recuperate, hopefully. Do you folks have any objection to me taking one of those prisoners you have over there? I just need one."

Just kinda say this to no one in particular as I worm towards the stoatmen prisoners. Entreaty the guards to give me one of them.
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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1783 on: November 07, 2016, 02:08:34 pm »

"Oh. Ah. Daniels? Are you there? Mr. Minstep? Nately?"
Look around a bit. Is the sky-rift still there? Anyone else about?
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Tearing the Stitches of Reality
« Reply #1784 on: November 08, 2016, 02:14:09 pm »

"Ah, well, thank you for your advice.  Good luck on finding a shirt!"

Onward to TBA!  Maybe even for real this time!

And good luck finding... whatever it is you are hoping to find in the North, Mr. Minstep. God knows you'll need it.

On that rather ominous remark you bid the good doctor and Ms. Minett farewell, and head northward at a steady pace, minding not the encroaching dark, the way the ground seems to have bunched up in places and torn itself open in others and the increasing number of glowing craters of toxic waste. It makes for a slightly circuitous journey as you navigate along the woods, trying to follow the increasingly erratic course of the road and, when that starts to fail more often than not, the almost as erratic course of the river.

[The Hero's Journey: 5]

There are distant lights here and there, and Polaris shines bright up above with a brightness that makes you wonder if this is perhaps one of those astronomer parks. The Australian fauna appears rather quiet in the wake of the previous day's massive upheavals, having sensibly vacated the area for safer southern climes. As such your journey seems destined to be something of a lonely one, although not entirely unpleasant. You almost feel like an explorer as the wilderness starts to overtake signs of human construction, and side trails from the road, when not destroyed entirely, become vanishingly rare. You even pass a few trails that lead straight toward craters nearly a hundred yards wide. What might have been there once is rather difficult to say.

Some ten to fifteen miles out, however, civilization has all but ceased. All that is left ahead, as a signpost fallen across the road eagerly promises after you manage to trip on it in the dark, is TBA.

[Still In Development: 4]

As you might expect of an as-of-yet unannounced colony, there's hardly more than foundations and half-built walls in place, with most of the former interrupted by sizable, chained craters and most of the latter having fallen over in the quake. The only thing that could be vaguely described as standing is what looks like a watchtower - a vaguely pyramidal structure of iron and stone, once reinforced to weather an age of abandonment and destitution. Right now it seems to be halfway imitating the Leaning Tower of Pisa, mostly on account of a good chunk of it being blown off, the missing cavities at several points emitting slow plumes of white bubbles. As such, the tower is very visible even now, just before dawn, if seemingly entirely unoccupied.

The grounds around the tower, mostly ruined though they may be, are anything but empty, however. You see many figures ambling around wearing strange masks with long, orange beaks that a lot of them are holding in both hands in what you assume is an expression of concern. Quite a few - women and men in equal number - appear to have taken to wailing, and many others seem to have huddled around small fires built of whatever is left in the area. Children, masked just like their parents, either huddle around the same fires or are standing at the precipices of the craters, looking down into them. The scene is one of chaos - nobody knows anything, everybody is confused, frightened.

And in the midst of this, you see two familiar faces atop one of the taller unbuilt ruins. An elderly man in the armor of the castle guard whose features are alive with disturbing satisfaction, and his trusty turnkey, who unblinkingly stares at the surrounding area. Next to them is a young and rather attractive-looking woman glancing around with little faith, periodically moving closer to the turnkey before he consequently steps away, then toward the captain, who does the same. They perform a strange dance atop the foundation stones, only the woman saying so much as a few words every now and then, only to be met with silence from her two companions.

Off in the distance you see a bright light along the horizon. You might have mistaken it for the sun if you did not know for a fact that the sun doesn't rise from the north.

"I guess we should look for clothes in Anglefork then. And maybe we'll run into someone there who's seen your father." I hop out of the ditch and head south towards the town.

You head south with the doctor and bear witness to a quake-torn countryside being looted by the Queen's finest. Stoatmen hang from the trees in places, and food stores are carted by those complying with the directives of the guards, spurred on by the wealth of examples made of those that refused to do the same. It's a grim journey through the dusk, and nudity does little to lighten the overall experience. You get the sense a lot of stress is being worked out here as you notice something starting to burn off to the other side of town.

[Surveying The Ruins: 3]

You pass one particular farmstead and notice a rather tranquil red-nosed guardswoman sitting atop a cart of grain as she munches on bread and ham, a gangly, starved and beaten, but seemingly very happy farmer lying by her side. They seem to be watching the sunset together while several friends of hers are swapping stories with a group of very raggedy-looking children, also enjoying rather bountiful lunches. The farmhouse behind them seems to have seen far better days, having collapsed at least halfway in on itself, but the folk present don't appear to mind much, being more in the mood to relax and enjoy a rather pleasant evening after what seems to have been a busy hour or two of pillaging.

*Sounds of disappointment*

"Fun hating brunnmigi.."

Wander back to where I left Lee and cover my growing disappointment with healthy dose of vodka fruits.

You shove off and try to find your way back to the tent - would it really kill these people to leave some kind of marker around all these near-identical teepees?

[Footsteps In The Dark: 3]

As it is, it's a bit of a heroic effort to find much of anything - it takes you all too long to try and retrace your steps back to the great oak you initially rested under, where your fire still seems to be burning in the pre-dawn darkness. From here it takes you a few minutes to recall the overall direction of Rose's tent. In fact, you are about to head that way when you notice none other than Lee come out at you, still looking rather exhausted, but seemingly put out enough to keep moving regardless.

She notices you easily enough as she comes out of the circle of tents, and is about to say something before she pauses and looks you over, narrowing her eyes. The colors, she says, pointing at your robe. They are not yours. She steps closer. Where did you steal them from?

"Hiya queen. Oh and look, everyone else too. Right, right, good. Someplace to recuperate, hopefully. Do you folks have any objection to me taking one of those prisoners you have over there? I just need one."

Just kinda say this to no one in particular as I worm towards the stoatmen prisoners. Entreaty the guards to give me one of them.

The queen looks at you briefly and it takes her a moment of whether you being naked or you being a noodle person is worthy of more thought. She gets as far as surprisingly loudly returning your greeting before the lord of the keep covers her eyes for the sake of your modesty. Not particularly minding this, you step over to the people by the prisoners.

[Hostage Negotiation: 4]

As soon as you ask a question, the minder girl floats out of the way. No sir, she's quite done with the prisoners. They probably didn't have too many secrets anyw-

You can't have any of these, the guards interrupt the minder girl, giving you a level look. These are actually semi-important ones, so you can't just go slitting their throats or hanging them from trees and such. At least not before they're interrogated and the town's defenders have been fully dispatched and they're supplied for an expedition and so on and so on, you know how it is, a guard rattles off without particular conviction. So you'll have to get your own, another guard adds. She'd suggest the dockside warehouse if you're looking for any uncaptured - there's a bit of a siege going on there last she heard. Or maybe hunt down some stragglers in the streets if you're feeling lucky, but after the first pass over most of the area there should be relatively few left.

"Oh. Ah. Daniels? Are you there? Mr. Minstep? Nately?"
Look around a bit. Is the sky-rift still there? Anyone else about?

[Call of the Wild: 2]

The rift in the sky is gone, and if anyone is about, they don't feel like shouting back to you. Feels like you've gone a ways, but you'll be damned if you know where or in which direction. You walk out of the clearing and try to get your bearings.

[Where Did You Come From, Where Did You Go: 5]

You pass a few craters full of the same kind of light-stuff that the weird northern raiders were made of, and it takes you a considerable amount of time wandering before the forest starts to thin, transitioning to brushland upon rolling hills. Off in the distance you see a road, and a hazy, slender figure traveling a good distance away from it, moving soundlessly through the bush, the moon at her back. She's considerably ahead of you, and moving rather fast. A bit faster than you'd expect of a person blundering through the bush at the middle of the night, truth be told. Certainly a lot faster than your walking speed.

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