Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 264655 times)

Toaster · « **Reply #1890 on:** December 19, 2016, 09:49:37 am »

"Right, sure, that's no issue. This one... isn't ripped too badly, really. And yes, patching. Uh. It's just a matter of using the thread to close the hole, right?"

Try to locate this needle in a darkness-stack. Fix the hole, maybe? Maybe even patch up the torn bedroll? Also should probably put the moving bedroll outside.

penguinofhonor · « **Reply #1891 on:** December 19, 2016, 02:59:14 pm »

"So do you know much about Anglefork Town? Like maybe which stoatmen could have lived here?"

I rummage through the jewelry box for whatever small trinkets look most valuable, stuff my pockets with them, and then search the rest of the room to see if there are some shoes tucked away somewhere. There's got to be some around here, with all these dressers to put things in and tables to kick things under.

TopHat · « **Reply #1892 on:** December 20, 2016, 04:46:43 pm »

"Yes, I should probably get going when it gets light enough to see. I can't thank you enough for your hospitality."

Thanks are in order. Anything I can do in return? Also, be glad the body comes with a Babel fish.

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #1893 on:** December 22, 2016, 02:27:08 pm »

Quote from: Xantalos on December 18, 2016, 07:17:54 pm

My argument is thus: keeping a bed around where I can deposit it at anytime will let me heal fully should I become injured like before, which drastically aids efficiency by allowing me to move faster than a crawl should my legs become disabled again. Additionally, it'll free me from having to go back to settled places should I need to venture to bedless places in search of souls. Is that sufficient persuasion?

Regardless of the result, also store the bearded fellow in storage space and head to the queen.

That's certainly an argument for why it would be practical, but not at all for why it would be delicious, and you get the sense that the ravening idiot void behind your eyes very noticeably loses interest quickly as a result.

You look at the bearded fellow, who looks on pathetically. It's all right, you nod reassuringly. He'll be in a better place soon. His eyes widen and you chuckle, oh no, no! Not in the way he's thinking. Much worse, probably.

You pull him toward you and let your garden of thoughts fold in around him, sequestering his body, mind and his very presence in this world behind your eyes. Pieces of him shed and orbit around his minimal presence, names and places. His name was Alphonse, and he had plans - he was to be the judge where before he was but a clerk. But they put a stoat in there instead - nevertheless, his spirit was appreciated, and he was made a barrister for his future collaboration and useful advice. He had a woman writing down what he said, every word. He could have been somebody before the quakes came, and the queen's men.

You shake your head to clear this sudden onslaught of dreams. Don't really need to know the life story of everyone you eat, do you? Better go see the queen soonish, though unfortunately you're a bit unsure as to where she might be. And also naked, you guess.

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on December 19, 2016, 03:47:18 am

"Dignity? When in Rome, do as the Romans do. That's how I work when I have confidence about situation. So when dignity is called for then dignity is what I provide, although these itchy britches do drop amount of available dignity to very low."

"I get things are confusing. These things are all new for me too, I'm experiencing almost all of this for first time. I have no clue what's happening half of the time, but I'm taking it on the stroll, riding the current so to speak and see where it takes me. There's no captain on this boat. I want out of the boat, but there's no shore on sight and ocean is full of monsters, so all I can do is to enjoy what I can see. If I gave you impression I know what I'm doing, then I'm sorry. I really don't."

Bleed my heart, and win hers.

[Progress: 4]

She relaxes a little as you speak, and sighs. Yes, she says, she can tell how much you know - this is the problem.

She trusts your intentions, she says after a moment. If she did not, she would not travel with you. But you are too eager to make a fool of yourself. These are the clanlands - mind yourself. Do not bring shame on the Moths, and beware the hospitality of the other clans. You are a Rabbit, and thus fair game for them.

Quote from: Toaster on December 19, 2016, 09:49:37 am

"Right, sure, that's no issue. This one... isn't ripped too badly, really. And yes, patching. Uh. It's just a matter of using the thread to close the hole, right?"

Try to locate this needle in a darkness-stack. Fix the hole, maybe? Maybe even patch up the torn bedroll? Also should probably put the moving bedroll outside.

[For Want of a Needle: 3]

The ranger has what he calls a needle and thread on hand - really it's more of an ancient tooth, a hole drilled in it and threaded with ropy sinew from what must have no doubt been an impressive beast. You figure it impolite to refuse as you take the ungainly thing, and try to conduct repairs while Claire prepares to rest.

[A Hack Job: 3]

The hole is closed, or at least addressed as you sew it reasonably shut and tie both ends of the sinewy thread together, making the gash merely drafty rather than outright perilous. The ranger sits by and watches throughout the process, providing moral support. Yes, like that! Ah, just like in his scouting days! Smashing! Now that's ingenuity!

Despite this you eventually manage to get the job done, and inspect your handiwork. Alleviating the problem's about as good as you can hope for with your needlework, but it'll do. You turn to return the tooth-needle, but the ranger shakes his head - no thank you, keep it! His compliments! You do that very well, after all!

Quote from: penguinofhonor on December 19, 2016, 02:59:14 pm

"So do you know much about Anglefork Town? Like maybe which stoatmen could have lived here?"

I rummage through the jewelry box for whatever small trinkets look most valuable, stuff my pockets with them, and then search the rest of the room to see if there are some shoes tucked away somewhere. There's got to be some around here, with all these dressers to put things in and tables to kick things under.

You indicate you'd like to take a look at the jewelry box, motioning for the doctor to pass it your way. Oh, of course, here you go - she passes it on, pausing a moment to put the necklace back in. Anyway, the stoatmen who lived here - presumably the former servants and possibly their friends. This was likely the residence of someone fairly affluent - you know the kind, rich enough to have excellent lodgings, unfortunate enough to find themselves this far north. The northern reaches do tend to attract the strange and unwanted, when said strange and unwanted aren't made such by exposure to the northern currents.

You look through the jewelry in the box yourself, and find the rest of its selection to be a little eclectic. Quite a lot of it seems to be costume jewelry, invariably colorful and rather cheap, mixed in with some polished semi-precious stones, mostly amber and amethyst, seemingly meant to be hung on the necklace from the way they have a small silver ring set into them. There are also two rings, both made of what feels like wood, and a pair of somewhat ostentatious diamond-shaped golden earrings encrusted with unusual spirals of black onyx that you find yourself staring at for a little longer than you perhaps should. You pick out the stones, the earrings and the wooden rings (they do feel a little strange in a manner you find difficult to immediately place).

-so yes, the doctor says, seemingly having gone into something of a longer explanation there, she would assume the real owners are long-dead, and these are merely opportunists - presumably the lower house staff, from the way one of them seemed to have left their clothes down in the basement. Oh, you say, very good then. Now to find some shoes, you say and head out of the closet, the doctor following behind - there should definitely be some around, she has to agree.

[Exquisite Footwear: 3]

You poke around beneath the dressers, but find little other than dust at first, and check inside as well. You find one dresser that's absolutely empty, but smells rather awful. Another seems to be used for storing quite a lot of cheese, one wheel showing a lot of signs of being frequently nibbled. And another seems to be filled nearly completely with a selection of silk stockings. None of these are quite what you require at the moment, so instead you look beneath the bed, where you find a rather nice pair of slippers. Not quite something you'd wear on the road, but you do suppose they're better than going places barefoot, so you put them on - they feel quite pleasingly soft and warm.

Quote from: TopHat on December 20, 2016, 04:46:43 pm

"Yes, I should probably get going when it gets light enough to see. I can't thank you enough for your hospitality."

Thanks are in order. Anything I can do in return? Also, be glad the body comes with a Babel fish.

There is something, the watchman says. He creaks to his feet and shuffles over to the mummy. Wrapping his fingers around its shoulders, he proceeds to shake it a little bit. The mummy groans dryly and bangs on its helmet in what you assume is anger. The watchman doesn't seem to mind, and merely lifts the thing up - much of its weight appears to be the helmet. He hands it to you. Here. Take to town. Probably broken. Ask to fix. Also add to registry.

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

TopHat · « **Reply #1894 on:** December 22, 2016, 04:19:52 pm »

"Will do; do you want me to take him back once that's done? And do I just follow the road to get to the town, then?

Quick clarification, then farewell and onwards once more.

Xantalos · « **Reply #1895 on:** December 22, 2016, 09:30:31 pm »

Well, fair enough. Just carry the bed with me as I go searching for the queen, then. If all else fails, follow any shouting I hear.

Toaster · « **Reply #1896 on:** December 22, 2016, 11:43:43 pm »

"Well, uh, thank you! My mother always said one should know how to sew. I didn't think I quite took to it, but I suppose it beats nothing? Maybe this bedroll next."

Okay, fix the torn bedroll? Then we can camp in earnest.

AoshimaMichio · « **Reply #1897 on:** December 23, 2016, 05:39:58 am »

Leif smiles. "It is easy to underestimate fool, isn't it? But let's address the problem then. At the moment you are my only option for fixing it. What I need to do to not shame the Moths?"

For once be a serious student. This seems to be important. Morals and ethics of the Morths? Definitio of a Rabbit? What's significance of clans other than being groups of people under one name?

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #1898 on:** December 25, 2016, 06:45:27 am »

Quote from: TopHat on December 22, 2016, 04:19:52 pm

"Will do; do you want me to take him back once that's done? And do I just follow the road to get to the town, then?

Quick clarification, then farewell and onwards once more.

No, and yes. The watchman feels no need to say more, and continues to avoid eye contact as he hands you the mummy - it's just as light as it looks as you take it into your hands, its leathery flesh perpetually damp. You need to make a brief catch as its boneless head lolls back, the weight of the helmet threatening to snap it off. You consider how best to carry it, and the thing seems to require a bit of persuasion to permit much of anything, but eventually you manage to have it hang on to your shoulders limply, vinelike arms wrapping around your neck as it rests its head on your shoulder. And with that you bid your farewells and push the shed door open, making your way outside.

The bog is faintly illuminated by the diffuse light of the rising sun struggling to filter through the dark eastern haze on the horizon. You carefully move onto the bone footbridge between the islands and begin a ponderous crawl, the unsteady and displeasingly rubbery construction swinging to and fro as you move along.

[Rubbery Crimes: 5]

All the while you hear the mummy mutter and moan on your shoulder, shying away from the waters of the bog. It seems surprisingly effective at balancing as it shuffles to one side or the other to help you avoid falling into the murk, and so you make your journey of many hours as the path winds along, bending eastward as you take what seems to have been some amateur architect's idea of a scenic route. Very occasionally you see something jutting out of the bog - the tops of half-decomposed trees that have sunk into the water along with their forming substrates, mingling with islands of free-floating detritus composed of things both man-made and natural that travel on the minimal bog currents, or perhaps even under their own power. You even see a single rocky spire, its sharpness suggesting an artificial origin, partly eaten by the bog, leaning precipitously toward the west.

The footbridge winds upward after several hours of crawling, and you see that ahead something of a causeway is poised to begin - you quicken your pace and get atop it quickly, standing on your own two feet again as the mummy very noticeably shivers on your back. The gravel crunches beneath your feet in a most unusual way, seemingly composed entirely of dead spiders, pillbugs and insects, sharp little bits of cockroach chitin crunching as you step onto the causeway proper, your feet sinking ever so slightly into the strange material.

It's a very tall causeway, you find, and it goes up and down along the way as the exoskeletons have possibly naturally evened themselves out into gentler angles, their sharpness and roundness varying greatly and seemingly determining the properties of the road along with it. You walk a little while along it, and hour perhaps, before you see it branch off into two directions, to the right and to the left, going roughly northeast and southeast. The mummy around your neck begins to pull back, trying to make you rear up like a horse, but lacking the actual strength to compel you in any fashion.

You think you see a break in the path to the northeast half a mile away, and something moving around it, you figure after taking a minute to take stock of your options, while on the other one you see another fork about a mile off, two ways heading east and south from there.

Quote from: Xantalos on December 22, 2016, 09:30:31 pm

Well, fair enough. Just carry the bed with me as I go searching for the queen, then. If all else fails, follow any shouting I hear.

[Taking This With Me: 4]

You are about to set yourself to work on removing the bed from the premises before you realize the bedframe actually has no legs, and seems to be just a part of the floor. So instead you just take the rubber mattress, which seems to hold up relatively well as you raise it up, water sloshing inside it as you carefully navigate it outside of the room and down the steps, then out the door into the street. Holding it above your head you move out, and begin to wander the town.

[Dismal Places: 6]

They seem to have done a rather admirable job clearing the place of any bodies - not a noose remains filled, not a single victim lays on the streets as night has fallen, and nothing has been left for the dogs to get to. All that remains on the air is a faint, sweet smell, and the only shouts that you can hear are rather distant. You head on through the streets and come to the last known location of the queen - the ruined town hall.

There's a lot more people here than before, you notice as you approach - a hundred, perhaps two hundred. Possibly three, even - you keep seeing more along the edges of our vision, standing on rooftops, looking through windows, hidden in alcoves. And... a lot of stoatmen appear to be among them, come to think of it. You slow your approach. And... none of them appear to be moving at all, their fuzzy shapes standing like statues among the ruins, all facing toward the center, where you see only a vaguely humanoid figure, arms outstretched, a dark and indistinct line running from indistinguishable face to its waist, the plate armor beneath it having ruptured from an emerging bloom. All is still, all is silent, and only the faint moonlight illuminates the area, which despite having more than half the crowd of the stoatman army nevertheless feels completely abandoned, the figures looking more like grave markers than living things, the overwhelming majority of them being stoatmen, with a few humans mingled in for a little variety. All of them bear marks - some are partly crushed, some have great trails of blood coming out of their throats, a few seem mangled to be almost unrecognizable, and you nearly step into a bit of paste that has bloomed into a colorful fungal patch.

Quote from: Toaster on December 22, 2016, 11:43:43 pm

"Well, uh, thank you! My mother always said one should know how to sew. I didn't think I quite took to it, but I suppose it beats nothing? Maybe this bedroll next."

Okay, fix the torn bedroll? Then we can camp in earnest.

[Supreme Needlework: 2]

You are about to get right down to it before you realize that you do not actually have any more thread. You look at the ranger, but he's sorry to say he's fresh out as well - good sinew's hard to come by in the bush, don't you know! Have to wrestle something big and toothy for it most often. Or worse, a moose! You ever wrestled a moose? It's a lot of work!

You turn back toward the tent. Claire seems to have fallen asleep at this point, curled up in her bedroll, confident that you'll be able to provide your own sleeping arrangements. You look at the needle in your hand, but it seems similarly unhelpful without something to thread it with.

Ah, the ranger chirps helpfully, perhaps you could go on and hunt something! You are far larger than he is. Why, he'd foresee you'd have no trouble at all subduing a moose. At least for long enough to harvest some sinew, he means. He can hand you his trusty fork if you like: it's served him well for many years now, he says as he retrieves a rusty, yet seemingly incredibly sharp two-pronged fork from his pocket.

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on December 23, 2016, 05:39:58 am

Leif smiles. "It is easy to underestimate fool, isn't it? But let's address the problem then. At the moment you are my only option for fixing it. What I need to do to not shame the Moths?"

For once be a serious student. This seems to be important. Morals and ethics of the Morths? Definitio of a Rabbit? What's significance of clans other than being groups of people under one name?

She motions for you to resume walking, and recites the requisite guidelines as you move: be subtle, ideally be unseen. Speak with other clans, but say nothing of use. When asked about important matters, lie - moreover, lie convincingly. Say no more than you must. Leave false tracks - several sets, preferably. Keep sharp, and keep your weakness to yourself. Do not trust another clan, but suffer their excesses with dignity.

Do all this, and you will be a Moth-friend, and not a Rabbit as you show yourself to be - foreign, ignorant, stranded, naive. Acceptable for Gallflies to lay eggs into, good for Dogs to surround, great for Monkeys to rob, excellent for Shrikes to vivisect and perfect for Dragons to butcher. Beneath concern for Moths, until they get close enough. You understand, yes?

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

Xantalos · « **Reply #1899 on:** December 25, 2016, 07:04:03 am »

"Well. Of course I couldn't go like five minutes without random cosmic powers trying to fuck about in my business. Well. Who needs a whuppin today, I wonder?

Also I should note that I've drastically underestimated these guys' tech base, I didn't think they knew what rubber was. Good stuff."

Approach this central figure and see who's disrupting the fabric of reality today.

AoshimaMichio · « **Reply #1900 on:** December 25, 2016, 12:48:03 pm »

Leif rubs his chin. "Not quite matching my personality, but I suppose I can pull that off. False tracks are easy enough. INEVITABLE, even."

Which way did we go, nobody knows. There is many paths to north, only one true. Many tracks of INEVITABLE futures are left behind, yet only one is truly taken.

penguinofhonor · « **Reply #1901 on:** December 25, 2016, 05:59:27 pm »

"Hm, they'll do for now. Let's move on."

I leave this room and check out another one.

TopHat · « **Reply #1902 on:** December 26, 2016, 03:31:51 pm »

"What is it? Be careful, or you might knock us in!"
Take the left path and address whatever's moving around there. Might be able to get directions.

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #1903 on:** December 28, 2016, 08:35:01 am »

Quote from: Xantalos on December 25, 2016, 07:04:03 am

"Well. Of course I couldn't go like five minutes without random cosmic powers trying to fuck about in my business. Well. Who needs a whuppin today, I wonder?

Also I should note that I've drastically underestimated these guys' tech base, I didn't think they knew what rubber was. Good stuff."

Approach this central figure and see who's disrupting the fabric of reality today.

[Through The Woods: 3]

You start to elbow your way through the thick crowd ahead, and are a little surprised when the stoatmen prove quite unyielding - well, to a point anyway, a bit more of a nudge does let you break one right in half, the top just falling to the ground as a veritable miasma of sweet-smelling dust is kicked up into the air. You cough and move along, a little more carefully now. They seem very inflexible, these people.

Continuing on, you make your way to the top of the ruins, clambering over the horde of corpses to do so. They grow decreasingly humanoid as you go on, more overgrown, some of them bursting at the seams with white fluffy growths, some covered from head to foot in black forests of spiraling fungus. The atmosphere becomes thicker as you go on, almost overbearing, and finally you make your way to the figure in front, its arms still outstretched. To his side is a familiar-looking woman, though a precise resemblance is difficult to pin down under all the deforming growths. They hold themselves open to you, not a shred of hostility in their posture apart from the way they do not seem to move in any way.

The silence of the ruins is pierced briefly by a gust of wind blowing gently past your ears, and you feel there is someone behind you.

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on December 25, 2016, 12:48:03 pm

Leif rubs his chin. "Not quite matching my personality, but I suppose I can pull that off. False tracks are easy enough. INEVITABLE, even."

Which way did we go, nobody knows. There is many paths to north, only one true. Many tracks of INEVITABLE futures are left behind, yet only one is truly taken.

You point the course northward, and as Lee wonders what you are indicating you speak the Word.

INEVITABLE

[Word: 2]

You see a great many paths ahead of you, a million different possible fates for you on the way, infinite possibilities! Of course, that's all a little bit irrelevant when you think about it a tad, because there really is only one or maybe two that take you where you were going, where the grave you are looking for and the meet that Lee hopes to attend is - the Free City of Elizabeth. And if your destination is well-known, there is absolutely no point in a false trail. You lower your hand, slightly disappointed.

Lee looks at you. You keep using that Word, she says. She is not sure it means what you think it means. Now get underway. There are still the rest of the Moths to meet with.

[Moth's Flight: 5]

And underway you get, with Lee leading the way at times as the craters become rarer and the landscape begins to transition into more mountainous terrain as you head north, at times northeast as you navigate the occasional ridge or head for a pass, and sometimes circle round a particularly unfriendly rocky area. You hear the cries of vultures flying above, hunting for the bones of careless travelers, along with more distant, entirely unfamiliar noises that Lee seems unconcerned with explaining. You stop briefly by another lone tree of many thousand years, gnarled and leafless, and as you take a brief rest and forage for food, you notice the landscape slowly breathe, rising and falling rhythmically for a minute before it seems to notice you and immediately stops.

You make it to a mountain river flowing through a rift in the earth, the rocks on the sides broken along quasi-natural layers that seem to have come apart to create reasonable walkways in the earth. The cliffs of configuration, Lee notes, and in her voice you hear relief as she can't help but smile at the sight. You have returned in time, she says. In time for what? In time for the pass to still be here, she says as a slight, but palpable tremor goes through the cliffs. The entrance should be here somewhere, she adds cryptically, quickening her step as you proceed along the side.

You have gone a ways into the pass after an initial climb down to an appropriate walkway when you hear a distressingly nearby shriek, a lot like what you would expect a man having his arms cut off would sound like mixed with the sound of breaking glass. At this Lee goes with her back to the cliffside instinctively. Dragons, she says. Wild. Hunting for goats, hoping for Moths.

Quote from: penguinofhonor on December 25, 2016, 05:59:27 pm

"Hm, they'll do for now. Let's move on."

I leave this room and check out another one.

It's a delightful sensation, not having to walk places barefoot. And these slippers are surprisingly warm as well. You head out the room with the doctor, and try the next door along the hall.

[The Country House Expedition: 6]

And as you walk in it becomes abundantly clear where all the shoes must have gone, as the next room seems to be some kind of drawing room turned peculiar museum. It looks to be filled with end tables and similar quasi-functional surfaces no doubt plundered from the rest of the rooms, all arranged in a spiraling pattern that some time has been dedicated to fully realizing (thrown into sharp relief by the way a sizeable sofa rests upturned in a corner and partly covered with a tarpaulin. Upon each of the impromptu displays rests a different kind of shoe or boot, some of them high-heeled colorful men's affairs, some altogether more sensible women's slippers, there's even a right and proper jackboot that seems to have slipped off a display in all the quakes.

Of course, all this footwear is hardly all of the art on display - the next most eye-catching thing are the masks on the walls, very reminiscent of tacky tribal masks, but unpainted, all dozen of them carved from the same sort of wood with a certain smoothness to their features. Stoat art, the doctor gives her best guess, recently made. All dozen of them occupy about half of the right wall, noticeably bunched up in one of the corners. The longer you look at them, the uglier they seem, to the point where even keeping them in your peripheral vision gets a little unpleasant.

A few parts of the wall are scribbled on in many layers, the scribblings competing for space with finger-painted drawings on the spots where paintings must have once hung (they've even painted the frames, you notice). They seem to mostly be awful-looking free verse and pastoral landscapes, respectively, but the artistry is poor enough that it is a little difficult to say for sure. The doctor reads one out loud, and it is about as unfortunately written as your cursory glance indicated.

It occurs to you that you do not see any windows, and putting two and two together you notice that the two bookshelves in the room, both liberated of books to make room for more shoes and as a consequence now an ungodly mess of upturned footwear, are presumably blocking the actual windows, perhaps to less effect than you would expect, considering that the windows still let in some light and the shelves are actually now resting against the wall at a considerable angle.

Quote from: TopHat on December 26, 2016, 03:31:51 pm

"What is it? Be careful, or you might knock us in!"
Take the left path and address whatever's moving around there. Might be able to get directions.

You start heading left, and the mummy continues to try and pull you back as you crunch your way along the insect path. What seems to be going on there is that two people, and you do use the term loosely, are seemingly working on the road in strikingly different ways.

The first is a man easily one and a half times your height if he were standing up and considerably more times your weight if the way he sinks into the path is any indication, looking more like a petrified mass of humanoid scar tissue than an actual person. He has no actual features - merely bulges and depressions in his grayish mass. He crawls on all fours, his long-fingered hands moving around and trying to smooth out the road, shuffling masses of derelict chitin back and forth as he goes up and down the road.

Slightly further ahead is a woman in a tattered dress, her eyes and mouth looking like great black holes, her nose collapsed into her face as she contorts and dances back and forth, shaking a rattling stick festooned with abnormally large dragonfly wings at the heavens and making a variety of terrifying clacking and gurgling noises.

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

Xantalos · « **Reply #1904 on:** December 28, 2016, 01:19:43 pm »

"Greetings! Explain this bullshit, please."

Step to the side so I can hopefully see whatever it is behind me in my peripheral vision. Failing that, let my murder-thought investigate it.

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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 264655 times)

Toaster

Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol

penguinofhonor

Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol

TopHat

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Harry Baldman

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TopHat

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Xantalos

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Toaster

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AoshimaMichio

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Harry Baldman

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Xantalos

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AoshimaMichio

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penguinofhonor

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TopHat

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Harry Baldman

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Xantalos

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