*wheeze*
"Hhhhhaaate ... fffffuckinnng ... jumpers. Kill them slow."
No time to waste, quickly make my way away from this damn warehouse. What was the reward for doing this again? Getting to sleep on a bed, I think?
They were going to, but then they tried to run. Smart of them in a way, the commander says. She gets two of her men together to help you up and away. If it's a bed you want, you've certainly earned that at the very least. The two fellows look profoundly dissatisfied at lugging your boneless half-corpse, but the work's easy enough and the commander's more than stern enough to keep any grumbling to a minimum - get this man the finest of beds not yet set aflame, and make sure he is not disturbed!
[A Day's Resolution: 2]
The next few minutes are a blurb as you are lifted off your feet by strong hands, a warehouse going slowly up in flames behind you as they whisk you away along several streets and through several likely candidates for houses that haven't collapsed. You lose consciousness before you are deposited anywhere in particular, and sleep like the dead.
[The Sea of Dreams: 4]
You awaken to the sound of water sloshing around as you roll over on a covering of boiled natural rubber. There are no sheets or covers, not even a pillow, but you feel profoundly free of pain as you open your eyes. You begin to rise and all of a sudden your bones pop and creak in unison like a rusted machine, your muscles taking a moment to define your skeleton as it used to be, as it should be. The crick-crack of everything settling into place as you slide out of bed quiets. You experiment with stretches more out of a bodily restlessness than any deliberate attempt, and finally manage to even out everything, standing up for the first time in a while without needing to undulate into an approximation of stability.
The room you're in is on the second floor, and also evidently looted of all its valuables - not recently so at that, as the dust has resumed gathering in places that used to hold paintings, tapestries and even a desk, the only thing that thieves knew not how to properly move being the waterbed itself. You look out the window, and make out the warehouse burning in the distance, by the docks, and houses in many a state of collapse lining the street outside. A pair of royal guardswomen walk down the street, dragging a well-dressed man behind them by his beard. They are chatting between themselves - he is very weakly screaming, nearly having fallen to the ground from lack of air.
"Oh, you know, a pretty normal state college. Brick buildings and boring landscaping, a few dozen thousand students, and a lot of black squirrels. A ton of research is done there, but not on magical topics. All in all, I think Thorne is a bit more interesting."
I inspect the collapsed upward staircase. How high up would I have to be to reach the second floor? If it seems like I can climb up on the rubble, or stack the nearby desk/bed and climb up on them, then I do so.
A few dozen
thousand, she says incredulously as the two of you stand by where the staircase has broken off and receded from the wall. That's a city in its own right! Would it not take a thousand staff at least to see to them all? Throne College had but a few hundred scholars there at its peak. Had they as many as this Kent State working toward a singular purpose, they'd have even the Imaginary section figured out in but a few years.
[Upward Mobility: 5]
Speaking of, she says as the two of you begin digging out the bedframe from under the staircase, what
did they research there? It's not as if the people in her college were minders, or even alchemists. Well, except that one man - strange fellow, he was, very fascinated with the Imaginary. Mythical alchemy, he liked to call it. Spent a lot of time in the library, much of it far before her own time as it happens. His students had a less poetic name - practical history, though she always found it a little misleading. A great way to find yourself going north, this practical history turned out to be. And then there were the futurists, who were a slightly different offshoot. Called themselves "predictive historians" when they didn't fashion themselves interdisciplinarians. The strangest lot of all, the three she actually heard of. Had another alchemist among them. Also went north, none returned. A fairly standard story for anybody who spends enough time in the Imaginary section - they tend to develop the strangest kind of revisionist ideas. And quite a lot try to make their own in a much more direct sense. Perhaps its best she's heard little of them since. Unless of course they did do it, but the change extended far enough into the past that nobody noticed. It was a distressingly common argument among them, you see - they, or maybe the King,
were changing history, but we simply did not have the manifold sight to observe it directly. Or that history itself changed upon observation. Honestly, things did get very esoteric there, but that's Benzerwald history for you, she supposes as you manage to finally get the thing free from the ruins.
You both carry the frame up the stairs, which seem to be holding up at least halfway up, and start carefully setting it up. Apologies for digressing, she says, it's something of a hab- though when you say a
lot of black squirrels, how many do you mean? One or two in every tree, or chirping and swarming in the rafters without end? She is attempting to imagine a city of brick on a flat plain presently, and the squirrels do add something of an... interesting impression either way. How intelligent are they? Like northern rats, perhaps, in that you sense them watching, chittering, waiting? A little more intelligent than they should have any right to be? She has heard accounts that this tends to happen when you let pests proliferate far too much, they build up some kind of unfathomable connection with the land itself. Become the spirit of the place after a sense, she gestures with one hand at the ground as you prop the bedframe across the gap between the staircase and the top floor as an improvised bridge.
There, the doctor says as she walks across the frame, arms outstretched in case balance becomes an issue, far better now, wouldn't you say? You walk across as well - yes, very adequate. The hallway ahead curves in a much more natural way than the inconstant way the rest of the house used to, the second floor bedrooms and adjacent chambers arranged in a very deliberate spiral, the side lined with partly broken, warped windows of paneled. Out of them you see the central room of the house on the first floor, or rather the roof that crumpled in on itself over them, drawing the second floor hallway to close around it in a spiraling manner. The floor feels a little unsteady, but it seems to hold you and the doctor for the most part regardless, so further exploration seems less like wandering into the belly of a raging beast and more of a regular abandoned house trawl - mostly safe, except when it isn't.
Seems reasonably well-preserved, the doctor shrugs. No doubt the owners - probably not the goons outside, mind you, the actual owners from before they were likely horribly killed - lived up here. Hopefully they've left something behind up here to mark their passage.
Thomas looked into the tent. Uhhh... "Ah, uh, yes? Indeed?"
What am I seeing here? Offer words of advice, though they're probably not really helpful at all.
You'd very much like the answer to that question yourself. There's arms and legs, and fingers too. Far too many fingers, jutting out every which way. There are no eyes, but there are teeth. The shape is reminiscent of something, but that is the most confident assertion you can make. You look at Claire, who appears to have retreated several more steps, putting the inside of the tent out of sight. Not going to go in there. No sir.
[How Do We Bury This: 2]
The ranger walks inside, the floor of the tent crunching under his feet in a way that raises far too many questions. He gives the thing a swift kick, and though a part of it caves in under his boot, producing a stream of five-legged crawling things that waste no time in burrowing straight down into the ground, it remains stuck fast through some unknown means.
Well, he says, will probably need a tool of some kind here. Have you a trowel handy, or perhaps a spatula? A bucket could be useful as well, thing's about as ripe as it is frost-crisped. Impressive, really - it can't have been like that for very long, else you'd imagine something would have eaten it.
"Very interesting. If you'll excuse me though, I'd like to rest a little now. Best be fresh for the morning journey."
Conclude the conversation, then it's time for a spot of rest, methinks. Stay awake, though, and try to monitor the healing process if at all possible. Could be interesting.
Not problem, the watchman shrugs creakily, and to the sounds of a bog gently bubbling, a skeleton hissing to the tune of several more unattended jars of kombucha and the mummy providing percussion you pass out on the couch for a while, your facial rift closing as your head lolls back.
[Considering A Nap: 2]
You are surprisingly quick to relax given the circumstances. As a matter of fact, you've been surprisingly quick to relax throughout the last... week, is it? You wouldn't exactly describe yourself as an individual who could lay down anywhere and pass out, and yet this seems to be exactly what you're doing right now. Obviously being passed out does not do wonders for your powers of observation.
That is, if you did actually pass out. You do close your... er, rift. And then when you open it again everything looks broadly the same, the occupants of the shack now having particularly moved until a light shines on them again and the helmet-banging, hissing and gentle shying away resume in earnest.
"I see. Hospitable is certainly true, though healer wasn't keen on sharing their spirits."
I have pants and I got breakfast, I think it is time to continue our trip. Farewell, until we meet again.
Once we have left the camp, or at least gotten outside of their hearing range, I want to hear Lee's opinion about various clans.
Oho, there's only so much of those present! Really, if it's a stash you're after, everyone has a little secreted away! For special occasions, you realize, haha! You'd suppose this might be an adequate time to break out his, but he would warn you in advance - a man of his size does need rather a lot for the medicine to work! Usually all of it, his mothers add and shrug, but an exception could possibly be made.
Right, you say, that's all fine and good, but you do need to be on your way. What, Rose's father says, already! But you've only just met! And you are, it seems, going the same way! What's the rush, good fellow! They'll be moving out within the next few hours, when everyone's good and ready - it would only be sensible to stay! Strength in numbers, you know! You look at Rose. She looks at her mothers. Her mothers stare at you much like her father, but with more congeniality than the wild glint of interest in his eyes.
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: Leaving Already?
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
- 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
- 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