"Well, this is what contingencies are for."
Fortunately, I have that wooden door still. Use that as a makeshift shield while I get closer to the warehouse.
You hold up your wooden door on your boneless arms and slowly begin to wobble forward. Slings, stones and arrows fail to rain upon you at every step, and both danger and mortal peril are nowhere to be seen as you make clamlike progress toward the wall, dragging yourself forward as you hold the door up at a 45 degree angle. The storehouse seems to have been disquieted by your persistently murderous assault, and barely a motion can be heard for the time being as you shuffle up to examine the hole in the wall, putting your eye up to it.
[Eyes On You: 6]
What you see inside is quite an assemblage of supplies, pallets and barrels and a multitude of boxes, no doubt once ready to ship out at a moment's notice. Right now, however, you notice that they seem to be smoking gently, a flame beginning to rise to one side. Nearby you see two stoatmen and a small old man, each of them missing seemingly very vital chunks as they lay on the ground in large pools of quickly drying blood. And above, on the walkways lining the top of the building, you see about half a dozen stoatmen and a very much human woman, most of them cowering by the walls in an effort to not be seen. The way they look at the opposite side tells you that there's probably a similar number over there. You hear them all shift suddenly as what you assume to be a meaningful nod comes from that direction, and with a look of obvious panic they all go for the windows.
You hear footfalls on the roof above, coming in your direction. You look up, and a man in surprisingly excellent clothes meets your eyes, his eyes filled with desperation as he dives off the rooftop toward you.
[Death From Below: 6 vs. 2]
You hold your shield up and the man lands onto you, squashing you beneath the door for a moment as your nerves go wild from the compression and the fragments of your bones grind sharply into your innards. You roar and push back up again in retaliation, and the man goes flying away, bellowing helplessly as he shoots away toward the river, clipping one of the nearby piers before tumbling into the river with a splash. You hear him start to instinctively tread water for dear life.
You do not manage to see this, of course, because immediately afterward a stoatman lands sinuously atop your door, crushing you once again briefly before you push back with a much less persuasive roar this time, and send this one flying a shorter distance upward and behind you, rolling on the ground and almost immediately afterward making a break for the river as well. Two more drop upon you as the royal guards start to charge in from afar, seeing the disastrous way this is about to unfold, and you violently throw them away like a humanoid springboard, your mouth and eyes now full of blood, your shape increasingly indistinct beneath the wooden door.
[A Royal Intervention: 6]
You hear the sound of an arrow being planted into the skull of the next one to fall upon you before you hurl them into the air. As they impact the ground nearby with the telltale sickening crack of a skeleton breaking in half, a royal guardsman decapitates one of the disoriented stoatmen you threw off previously. One stoatman does not chance jumping onto you - he lands in the clutches of a guardswoman who takes her time in strangling the life out of him. A couple holding on to each other land onto you, and you rocket them off into the township's general direction, their shapes making a sizable hole in one of the smoking roofs. You feel strength begin to drain out of you as a particularly corpulent stoatman squashes you beneath the door, and you don't so much throw him as roll him off. He starts to scramble away on all fours, and you catch a glimpse of him skittering into an alleyway as your murder-thought mutilates an adjacent street corner in failed and confused retaliation. You see a somewhat sizable dog get thrown at the charging commander from above. It starts licking her face and whimpering, and she is distracted for a moment as she puts it down and resumes charging the warehouse, the dog standing around in confusion before following behind and yapping with excitement. And finally the woman you recall seeing from before jumps on top of you, and you deflate under the door as you are ground into the dirt one last time. She stands up unsteadily over the door as guardsmen surround her. Don't hurt her, she shouts, she didn't-
You keen, your ruined throat unable to make any particularly human noise presently, and don't so much stand up as expand, your muscle oriented in a single direction as you raise the door by one side, pushing it and the woman on it into the wall. You push, seamlessly continuous with the door and ground, more starfish than man with your wealth of sucking wounds, shards of bone jutting out like spikes, boneless limbs moving in profoundly inhuman ways as you orient all your muscles in one direction and spend half a minute meticulously straining this woman through the hole in the wall you made while the guards observe with equal parts amazement and bemusement as her screaming becomes gurgling, and falls to an extended splortch as she makes it to the other side with a much more uniform texture and consistency.
That's certainly
a solution, the royal guard commander says as the dog slowly approaches you and starts lapping at the door while you glare at the carnage all around you, a little disappointed there aren't more people to safely take out your frustration on. Got most of them, and the spectacle was really something else. Not to mention that... wait, is that crackling coming from inside the storehouse? The guardsmen exchange glances as the commander shoots a commanding look at them, and run off to investigate.
Ah! A park ranger! Quite a good find. "Ah, yes, very good! We will stay here the night; thank you for the offer! So, how long have you been a ranger here? Finding it quite enjoyable?"
Prepare for the night. Converse more.
You head over to the larger tent and look into propping it back up - all the things you need seem to be there, even if the tent itself has a rather large gash cut into its side, seemingly for lack of patience in going out the proper way. Claire stands by and watches as you try to get it back together, occasionally offering a hand or a motivational yawn.
As for the ranger, he finds his line of work extraordinarily fulfilling! You wouldn't be in the same business for... well, must be fifty years! Yes, fifty years if you didn't enjoy it to some level! Only thing bothering him really is all the worms and such! Always moving about and wriggling, you know. Unseemly! He's not a big fan of bears either, personally. They're a tad overrated in his experience. But other than that, he must say that nature is indeed amazing!
Claire inhales sharply as you look inside the tent and takes a step back. Ah, says the ranger, there's another one! Wait, that's two - bit hard to tell where one ends and the other begins! Somewhat grisly, he supposes. Are they frozen solid? Oh my, and those expressions on their faces. Should probably put them somewhere else for the night at least!
((Interestingly, Jack still has those rats.))
"Hoh, packed with prophecies? Where I come from prophecies are rare and almost universally made up with no divine backing. Guess I should pay no heed to any that's not coming directly from Æsir, and theirs tend to be self-fulfilling."
Inquire about the clans around this (to me) unkown side of the world.
That's the way, yes! Prophecies are a fool's game at the best of times! Instead you'd best be tending to your own business - in agitated times like these, hardly need to stir the pot much more if you catch his meaning!
You chew contently on a whole sparrow for a moment, and ask about the clans. The clans, the father says! Ah, the ventral mother chuckles, a surefire way to get a discussion rolling, that question. You'd hardly even know where to begin, the dorsal mother adds. Nonsense! All things begin at one's own clan! And all too often end there, Rose mutters.
[An Unbiased Recounting: 2]
He laughs as he recalls something. He supposes there's no better place to begin than the Gallflies themselves! Familial! Trustworthy! Loyal! And very hospitable, he says as he places another vole in your hand! No other clan has quite the same kind of reputation, he's sure you'll find! Keep your things close next to a Monkey, they say, and keep your children safe from the Stork! Make way for the Dragon, and never touch a Treefrog! Keep your eye on any Moth, he smiles at Lee in apparent good humor that is similarly apparently not shared, and tread not in the web of the Spider! Deal carefully with the Dog, hunt not for the Snark, do not let the Goat run free! Treat the Worm with utmost respect, and look always uninteresting before the Shrike! But the Gallfly is always your friend if you are prepared to return the gesture! Even for a Rabbit such as you, the dorsal mother adds. Especially for a Rabbit, the ventral mother continues. Those poor things are always so lost, Rose shakes her head. Indeed, her father nods, but such is the way in the northlands!
"Thorne College? Never heard of it. I went to Kent State University, at least until I wound up here. Back then I was a normal human, as far as I can tell, but being brought here has changed my body somehow. I can survive wounds that would have killed me before, and heal from them in hours. I also don't feel hunger, and don't have to breathe."
I begin looking around for an escape hatch. Surely a building this unstable would have something like that.
So you've been altered in some myste- wait, you've never heard of Throne College? She claps her hands together. It's a wonderful place - simply wonderful! Imagine a library of ten million volumes and uncountable scrolls, preserved perfectly throughout the ages, lining shelves many stories tall winding around in dust-filled labyrinths you could walk around in for weeks and see no end in sight, where you could delve for a lifetime simply to discover its true extent and contents, or perhaps to find that one crucial clue that makes it all make sense. Imagine organizing conferences to try and decipher the topology of such a place, or how it came to be. Consider the length of study required to unravel the mysteries of such an incredible ancient place, and jumping into the fray to chip away at its foundations, hoping to god that in twenty years you might possibly dig out a diamond of searing truth!
Yes, that just about describes the Imaginary section of Throne College's great library, the doctor says wistfully. She tended more toward the newer sections. Didn't have the head for many of the algorithms required to navigate too deeply, but she did go on regular trips with one of the professors' groups. It was a lot like climbing a mountain, right down to the lack of oxygen in certain places. A fantastic place if you've a mind for adventure - she tended to work with what they brought back for the most part. The rest of the College was no less impressive - ostentatious in a way only something built with no sense of practicality could be, a repository of six thousand years of history, art, science and literature that never happened, and yet strangely existent all the same. A whole other world. She sighs. It's a shame there's no going back there, really.
[A Convenient Hatch: 2]
But what of this Kent State University, she asks. Huh, you reply as you search around for an alternative exit, and conclude that there are unfortunately no windows to dive through in this hallway, and that any hatches to, say, an attic are probably on the second floor. This university you went to, she repeats. What was it like?
"The glow is the result of... misused magic, itself a result of my brother doing his level best to kill me for reasons I still don't grasp. The earthquake was a seperate incident, apparently caused by some idiot messing about with the worst possible magic in the worst possible place and calling forth some kind of underground reservoir of magic. You seem to have got off lightly here, though, unlike near Anglefork."
Exposit.
The mummified thing squeaks and continues to play its helmet like an off-rhythm drum. Good knowing that, the watchman translates after a long minute. Bog shelters, bog preserves. Nothing gets far into bog before bog gets into it.
You sip your water sagely from the glass. It's a bit of a shame when you run out. Was rather good, truth be told.
Leif Erikson, Miner
- Itchy Woolen Britches (worn)
- A Word: INEVITABLE
- A Word: APOCALYPSE
- Body Count: 228
- Mead of Poetry (5 shining revelations remaining)
- Enders' Friend: The Grave of Red Clouds Parting
- Inscribed Wooden Stylus
- Iron spear
- 1.03 gp
- The Box: ?
- Induced Lucidity: the Aftermath, or the New Beginning
- Compatibility: Minding
- Tricks of the Mind: Perception, Memory
- Tricks of the Mind: Engagement, Negation, Abstraction, Prestige
- Tricks of the Mind: the Self, the Other
- Gods of the Underground: Did You Just What
- A Visit From The Stork: Is What You Yes
- The Voracious Dark: Two Deals Made
- The Voracious Dark: The Promised Sixth
- Moth's Flight: the Thief of Thoughts
- An Ancient Sea: The Hedonist's Inspiration
- The Miracle of Life: Join the Family!
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Naked
- Rusty, bloodstained knife
- A Word: HUNGER
- A Word: SYNTHESIS
- A Weapon: Explosive Cysts
- Grenade Jumping: A Solid Technique
- The Good Doctor: Secret Histories
- Higher Tonight: There And Back Again
- Linen stoat shirt
- Stoat trousers
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Naked
- Red and gold vest and breeches combo
- Leather boots
- Traces of Mischief: 90% Boneless
- Wounds: 3
- 14033 gp (in sack)
- The Queen's Guard: Actual Asset
- Powers of the Beyond: Gardener of Thoughts
- Garden of Thoughts: the Stoat-Magistrate
- Dusty Wooden Speaking-Trumpet
- Crossbow Bolt (in throat)
- A Word: REND
- A Word: SILENCE
- A Weapon: Murder-Thought
- Uncoupled: Strength
- Wooden Door
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Run Like Hell
- 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 Worm
- 2 rats, crushed
- 1 rat, strangled
- 1 rat, live
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday ± 2 Days
- 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: An Eager Listener
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- Troubles In Anglefork Town: Bearer of the Sword
- A Word: ABSENCE
- A Word: GOODBYE
- The Doom Guard: A Productive Discussion
- A Weapon: The Sword They Fear
- Traces of Mischief: Whole-Body Radioactive Burn
- A Bowl, Black and Knobby
- Tight Leather Pants (worn)
- Incredibly Tight Blue Dress (worn, mutilated, mildly provocative)
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday, July 25th, 409 S.D.
- The Good Doctor: An Island of Sanity
- The Queen's Guard: A Reward Well Earned
- The New Queen: Lasting Gratitude
- Lonely Roads: The Man, The Legend
- The One They Fear: A Satisfactory Contract
- The Box: Absolutely Delightful
- A Boy's Life: Out Back
- Body Count: 2
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- A Word: REVELATION
- Wounds: 2
- Crystal glass
- Traces of Mischief: Glowing Facial Rift
- The Serpent's Egg: Dissemination
- Body Count: 4
- Time-ender's measure (wrapped, processing? stopping?)
- 10 m of rope
- Half a candle
- 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
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: The Less Dangerous Friend
- Fuligin Gates: A Guest At The Watch-House
Author
Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 263745 times)