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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written  (Read 264637 times)

AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1905 on: December 28, 2016, 02:56:07 pm »

"Dragons? Should I shove apocalypse up into their ass?"

Offer terminal solution to the dragon problem.
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1906 on: December 28, 2016, 08:48:39 pm »

Thomas blanches at the suggestion.  Uh oh.  "Ah!  Er!  Hunting!  The great sport of men, I believe?  Well, uh, er, ah, I suppose I could give it a go?"

That didn't sound appealing at all, but he didn't want to back down.

Take the offered fork, and go put on a show of hunting.  A couple laps around the camp, still where he can see the firelight, you know?  Just long enough to look like a real attempt.  Not really actually HUNTING, you know.
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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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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1907 on: December 29, 2016, 04:21:06 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.

[Excellent Angles: 1]

You turn to look who might be attempting to sneak up on you, and what you immediately spot is a momentary glint of moonlight from a familiar set of sequined robes on the body of that sun-priest. In your surprise you focus on him, his arms now broken zig-zags with protruding bones, his body noticeably crushed in places, each open wound now sporting a rich bouquet of white, faintly luminescent fungi. Shining trails run down from the corners of his eyes, his face contorted into a not-quite-correct grin. He is frozen mid-bow, and the first thing that you notice is that he appears to be completely alone where once there stood a sea of stoatmen.

You recall to keep him in your peripheral vision as another faint chill passes over you, and you glance back - the central figure is gone now, as is most of the crowd. You see the faint silhouette of a few still standing atop distant rooftops, but even as you attempt to keep all within some form of sight, one or two disappear with each moment of inattention, and as you tilt your head to try and keep the last few in your continual sight, only the priest still hasn't moved - well, he has moved a little, turning one of his ears (also with a shining trail running down from behind it) toward you and putting one of his hands to it, as if to try and hear you better.

"Dragons? Should I shove apocalypse up into their ass?"

Offer terminal solution to the dragon problem.

Absolutely not, Lee says through her teeth. You'll bring the canyon down on your own head. Worse, you will destroy the entrance. Better keep an eye out instead. Spot the dragon, then avoid. Not worth trying to fight.

[Eye of the Dragon: 1 vs. 6]

She urges you to move along quietly, and looks to the skies with great concentration, attempting to spot any approaching shapes as she cautiously leads the way, stepping quietly on the walkway and checking for anything swooping down.

[Situational Awareness: 5]

As Lee covers the higher angles, it occurs to you at a certain point to try and look down after roughly ten minutes of fruitlessly proceeding. And you immediately feel rather glad that you did, because what should you immediately see but a dark winged silhouette making its way between two alcoves quite a distance below - it's about the size of a Great Dane, and moves with an alarming lack of sound as its two winged, clawed forelimbs wreathed in steely feathers carry it extremely rapidly along the cliffside, its yellow eyes flashing briefly in the sun as you spot it. There is a moment of mutual recognition as you exchange a look, and then you feel it tense suddenly, about to make a hell of a leap in your direction.

Thomas blanches at the suggestion.  Uh oh.  "Ah!  Er!  Hunting!  The great sport of men, I believe?  Well, uh, er, ah, I suppose I could give it a go?"

That didn't sound appealing at all, but he didn't want to back down.

Take the offered fork, and go put on a show of hunting.  A couple laps around the camp, still where he can see the firelight, you know?  Just long enough to look like a real attempt.  Not really actually HUNTING, you know.

That's the spirit, he says as he pushes the fork in your hand and closes your fingers around it - hold it slightly over your head, at about a 45 degree angle, yes, that's it! You're a natural! Now go out there and get you some precious organs!

[A-Hunting We Will Go: 2]

Er, certainly, you say, and head out to a respectable, but not at all unsafe radius along the side of the camp, lifting the fork up as indicated, and jumping from one foot to the other as you pantomime a perhaps more than culturally insensitive effort at hunting. You circle round the camp three times, the ranger shouting encouragement at you all the while, and at the end of the third lap he seems terribly pleased with your progress at this whole ranging business.

You turn away from the surrounding landscape, and hear a sudden growl. Aha, says the ranger, there's your quarry! Must have heard the stomping about. He squints at the darkness behind you. Doesn't look overly large, at least not from the camp. But very enthusiastic! It'll make good sport for sure, he nods affably. Now go get it, he points into the growling darkness. You look as well, fork still held aloft instinctively. The growling deepens, and growls closer.

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TopHat

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1908 on: December 29, 2016, 05:52:15 pm »

"Greetings to you both! Is this the way to the town?"
Hi.
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1909 on: December 29, 2016, 05:57:18 pm »

"You want to hear me better? Fine then."

Daniels cups his hands around his mouth.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED HERE PLEASE"
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1910 on: December 29, 2016, 08:24:49 pm »

((I just love that in trying to avoid hunting anything, Thomas rolled a two and found something.  Or was found by something.  Either way.))

Oh dear.  Can't back down now.  What was it that hunters did now?  "Have at you, foul beast?"  That sounded right.  Maybe from a movie.

Approach and do what must be done?

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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.

AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1911 on: December 30, 2016, 04:14:59 am »

"Below."

Arrival to the grave of Red Clouds Parting (or whatever the name was) is INEVITABLE, therefore this dragon encounter will end as our undeniable victory. Or at least we survive it.
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penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1912 on: December 30, 2016, 09:18:11 am »

"What a strange place."

I look for a pair of durable boots that fit me (they don't have to match) and put them in my pockets. I'll keep wearing the slippers for now.
« Last Edit: December 30, 2016, 09:20:49 am by penguinofhonor »
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1913 on: December 30, 2016, 03:18:08 pm »

"Greetings to you both! Is this the way to the town?"
Hi.

[Do You Know The Way: 4]

You're not sure quite what you expected when you asked them such a thing, but they seem eager to acquiesce however they can - the giant rolls on his back and begins to gesture wildly all around, the sucking hole in the middle of his head trying and failing to form words, and the feticheur shakes her rattling stick intently toward where the road appears to lead, seemingly in agreement. Of course, the two of them are split by a considerable gulf of bogwater - no doubt a little shallower than the rest of the bog, but still rather ominously dark, no doubt incredibly cold and perhaps even a little viscous. Caught up in the excitement, the mummy on your back starts to bang on its helmet in perfect rhythm with the rattling fetish. This together with the groaning of the giant produces a rather impressive level of noise.

All in all, they seem pretty positive, or at least not very able to oppose the idea that where you are intending to go might be down this road. Of course whether they would be qualified to judge such a thing is another question. Or maybe that's just your face they're reacting to, they're not exactly easy to understand precisely.

"You want to hear me better? Fine then."

Daniels cups his hands around his mouth.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED HERE PLEASE"

[Compelled To Explain: 4]

The priest remains unmoved by your question, but you do sense that same shifting from before. It seems they're determined that you play their game and turn to look. So you do, not keen on wasting more time than strictly necessary, and see that several figures have returned - stoatmen, the most broken and ruined of their number, all laying on the ground. Next to each is another - the familiar woman, the knight in bloom, a few others. All are kneeling down, placing a hand on their face. Their bodies seem frozen in time as you look upon them.

The sun priest shifts as you turn your attention away from him altogether more noticeably, as if to deliberately draw your attention back to himself. His arms are crossed, his eyes wide, posture leaning in toward you from a slight distance. Does that answer your question?

Oh dear.  Can't back down now.  What was it that hunters did now?  "Have at you, foul beast?"  That sounded right.  Maybe from a movie.

Approach and do what must be done?

Wielding your ranging fork you forge boldly into the bush, and seek a worthy battle.

[Get Forked: 2 vs. 4]

A glint of northern steel sunders the somewhat well-lit night as you completely whiff the stab, unable to see what you could possibly be attempting to hit. Your opponent evidently makes no such mistake as the growl turns into a snarl, a large red-furred mass jumping forward and onto you, sharp claws and teeth digging into your flesh as it bites down and rends it with an impressive, ravening greed.

You flail and fall backward as the creature, with its overgrown foxlike body and horrific batlike face, all in all the size of a wolf and the malice of a cornered rat, seems to handily turn the tables on how you would have hoped the encounter to turn out.

Aha, the ranger shouts! The beast is in your sights! Look how it has exposed itself, thinking you to be some beggar in the night! Stab it in the joints, good fellow! Throttle the life right out of its throat! Bite back! Scream! Give it a taste of its own savagery, he comments as he punches the air demonstratively!

"Below."

Arrival to the grave of Red Clouds Parting (or whatever the name was) is INEVITABLE, therefore this dragon encounter will end as our undeniable victory. Or at least we survive it.

Lee immediately looks to see what you are referring to. You hear the sound of her slipping a knife out of her sleeve instinctively. The dragon leaps, and you speak the Word.

INEVITABLE

[Word: 1]

The frame of time is upset in one fell swoop, time beginning to pass logarithmically as things foretold begin to occur all at once, inexorably drawn into simultaneity.

[Moth's Flight: 4]

A flurry of steel feathers carve into you again and again like white-hot knives, slicing increasingly large chunks of you away as the dragon flies into you first of all - it is half your size and easily twice your ferocity, and every part of it seems aimed at the express purpose of killing as quickly as possible. You manage exactly once to smash it into the cliffside as it gets perhaps too excited about eviscerating you, all in fast-forward as the valley itself rumbles and starts to close in. Lee slips a knife in between its feathers, and in return it narrowly missed her windpipe and arteries as it slashes across her throat. Combat becomes feverish quickly, and is very obviously not going in your favor at all as the thing seems to laugh off your very best efforts at harming it.

It is about to finish you - in fact, it seems perplexed about how you have not yet died, it having struck at all the spots it instinctively knows to sever. People tend to expire, after all, once you're cut both of their arms and one of their legs off. Lee has begun to take off at a sprint, and rocks begin to fall as the valley closes rapidly, and pieces of it begin to fall down. The dragon spreads its wings and leaps up again, jumping off the side of the canyon as it starts to close, leaving you there in the middle with less than a quarter of your blood still in your body as you notice cracks begin to form around your current resting place.

"What a strange place."

I look for a pair of durable boots that fit me (they don't have to match) and put them in my pockets. I'll keep wearing the slippers for now.

It does seem a lot like the folk that took up residence here had specialized tastes, the doctor comments. The strangeness does bleed into the mind if the structure is not soundly built, which this most certainly isn't. The less obvious ones can be a serious hazard, and you do see them a lot more often in the north. Suppose everyone's a little strange here, not unexpected that a lot of eccentricities might just slip you by.

You regard some of the boots on display, and are rather pleased when you discover that a particular black leather boot on display, more or less your size, seems to have a counterpart secreted away in the drawer of its display table. It seems to have held up well in here, and you would expect it to be waterproof as well, which is about as much as you could ask for. They do seem rather nice, the doctor opines as she shops around for footwear of her own, settling at last on a pair of respectable riding boots that she puts on while you keep yours hanging out of your pockets. Feels a little strange to wear men's boots, she admits, but not at all bad!

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« Last Edit: December 31, 2016, 07:34:29 am by Harry Baldman »
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1914 on: December 30, 2016, 09:26:12 pm »

"No, not at all. No clue what happened. Unsanitary hand-to-face contact fuelled growth of you supernatural fungus peoples? Dunno, don't really care. Bye."

Where was El? West, I think? Start going west, or whichever direction it was in.
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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1915 on: December 31, 2016, 07:32:28 am »

"Eh, that didn't go right."

I did that "walk through stone" trick once before, surely I can do it again. It would be fantastic if I could include "walk through dragon" part into it. It was INEVITABLE, right? Important part of my fate or something.
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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1916 on: December 31, 2016, 04:49:12 pm »

"Eeeeyaaaag!"  That probably counted as a battle cry.

Okay, better fight back for real.  Recall battle training with the guard.  Maybe fork that joint?
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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: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1917 on: December 31, 2016, 10:36:33 pm »

"Maybe there's a room with someone's weapon collection."

I continue exploring the house.
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1918 on: January 01, 2017, 08:48:59 am »

"No, not at all. No clue what happened. Unsanitary hand-to-face contact fuelled growth of you supernatural fungus peoples? Dunno, don't really care. Bye."

Where was El? West, I think? Start going west, or whichever direction it was in.

Since they don't seem interested in fucking with you, you quickly lose interest in the fungal statue people and try to remember what you were doing. A moment's think lands you at El - probably far away, but not like you're in a particular rush or anything. You head westward, passing by the storehouse you vividly recall assaulting, now a charred and smoking husk. There's a few people around, but screw this, you've been delayed long enough by their silly distractions.

You take a long walk off the shortest available pier and jump into the river, aiming to cross westward. It makes for a curious scene as you easily manage to paddle yourself out of the water, surprising even yourself as you rise out like a speedboat at full tilt, almost running on all fours in the water as you exert disproportionate force in relation to your mass. Emerging from the other side, where the relative density of the east bank has given way to scattered and mostly collapsed fishing huts and outlying farms (no doubt due to the treacherous, even if in your case unchallenging crossing).

[Life Is Peaceful There: 5]

Your walk through the outskirts of Anglefork attracts eyes. Familiar eyes, and more than a few belong to stoatmen, uniformly frightened and unsettled at your presence, quick to hide as you look back. Some of them even vacate the ruins of the houses they've set up in and take off at an ineffectual run on their short, stubby legs. You see a bear walking down a side street, pawing at piles of rubble, presumably in search of survivors. A pack of mongrel dogs holds court over the remains of an improvised shrine, but the mere presence of your murder-thought scatters them easily.

At the western edge of it all is a house, and beyond it the woods properly begin. It looks like something between a duplex and an archway, striking in its peculiar architecture. The right part of it has collapsed along with the archway, bent rooftop statues of shining solid gold littering the rubble, but the left seems to have held up very nicely, the three-story affair looking downright livable, especially considering the light shining in its top floor window. Beyond it you see a path leading west, a long road of hardened black earth with readily distinguishable segments where the side of the road waves and curves regularly.

"Eh, that didn't go right."

I did that "walk through stone" trick once before, surely I can do it again. It would be fantastic if I could include "walk through dragon" part into it. It was INEVITABLE, right? Important part of my fate or something.

You're not sure a man in your state of dismemberment would be wise to court inevitability. Wisdom, however, was never your strong suit.

INEVITABLE

[Word: 6]

The valley shakes as you let the Word rip through it, and suddenly your resting spot crumbles and you fall, the entire crevice folding in on itself rapidly as you tumble down the cliff wall. Solid rock snaps shut over you. The roaring continues for a good minute as the entrance closes, and you are left in pitch blackness here beneath the earth, water gently rushing along your back as you become acutely aware of several hundred feet of rock now separating you from the surface.

"Eeeeyaaaag!"  That probably counted as a battle cry.

Okay, better fight back for real.  Recall battle training with the guard.  Maybe fork that joint?

[Valuable Recollections: 5]

This isn't quite like beating people up with sticks at arms' length, but you do recall your training! Combat is, after all, a state of mind. And it's one you try to adopt as best you can as you free your hand and go for a good forking.

[Fork The World: 3+1 vs. 4]

This does not work out quite as intended, but the scratch along the back of its leg that you expertly deliver is enough to throw the beast off - sensing that getting into a close quarters fight is perhaps not to its advantage it yelps and withdraws a little, giving you time to get on your feet and regain your composure as you assume a more proper combat stance, the creature seemingly ready for a winner-take-all duel with you as it attempts to circle round and look for an opening. Go around it, says the ranger! He'll help in a pincer attack! The creature shoots a distrustful glance in his direction before refocusing on you.

"Maybe there's a room with someone's weapon collection."

I continue exploring the house.

Wouldn't be unexpected, the doctor supposes. Many country nobles are also avid hunters, or at least avid hunting enthusiasts when the local wildlife is a little too ferocious to personally hunt. And what's a hunter without a favored weapon?

[The Country House Expedition: 6]

After a false start with a guest bedroom that seems to have been stripped of anything but a canopy bed and littered with now-decaying rose petals, you and the doctor try the next door and find that it leads to a study - and also a trophy room! The doctor seems more excited than you are about this discovery, rushing in ahead of you at the first glint of heads on the walls.

And what heads they are! Quite an avid hunter, the doctor comments approvingly, or at least a gifted taxidermist! There's the head of what resembles a proboscis ape, but with enormous, jagged, antler-like tusks coming from its mandible, its dark glass eyes of pupilless red apparently very anatomically accurate according to the doctor. Springheel, she provides a name. They live in treetops. Rooftops too, sometimes. Very nimble for their weight. There's also the skull of a night gaunt, smaller than most of the ones you've seen, but still an impressive and very shiny trophy regardless. There's the length of something that looks a lot like a lamprey, except instead of the usual teeth it seems to have a wealth of hooks in its mouth, the entire thing disinfected and coated in varnish for posterity. The doctor taps one of the hooked teeth, each one about the length of her hand. River grinder, she calls out! See, how it works is that it unfolds its mouth of hooked teeth and juts them out, then uses a combination of its powerful tail fin and good old suction to pull in its prey, such as the leg of an unwary swimmer! At which point, she demonstrates as she makes a spinning motion with her hands and a very illustrative noise with her mouth, it uses its adaptable musculature to turn it into a digestible slurry.

She's quite knowledgeable on this, you note. You're kidding, the doctor says, this is essentially a breakdown of the big five of northern killer fauna. Look, there's a gorebeast head as well, she points at something a lot like a more menacing version of a rhinoceros beetle. Looks blunt, of course, but it makes up for the difference in sheer force. Less prominently displayed than the others is a strange-looking skull with two rows of stubby horns along its top, the maxilla tapering to a single long tooth, the lower jaw seemingly missing. The fabled antwerp? The doctor shrugs - maybe? Doesn't look like what she's seen in any of the books she's read.

But look, there's even a dragon souvenir, she coos and goes toward what looks like a fan made of feathers on the wall, engraved with what look to be war chants. Bought off some wandering clanfolk, presumably, but it's a presence of some kind. Rather nice workmanship, she says as she takes it off the wall and gives it a delicate sweep through the air, the fan making the distinct noise of steel being swung through the air. Would be a shame to leave it here for somebody else to steal, wouldn't you think? She sits down by a desk covered in failed attempts at writing letters and a good deal of spilled wax, fanning herself with the artifact as she gives a smile.

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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Halfway To Sheol
« Reply #1919 on: January 01, 2017, 11:12:27 am »

Suddenly remember I have clothes now. Probably a good idea to put those on.

Anyway, after that extract Alphonse from my garden of thoughts and transplant him into the world ... right in front of me, let's say. He's going to be my new travelling companion!

Not that he has a choice, naturally.


"Hello Alphonse. See, wasn't so bad, was it?"
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