"Ah. Uh. Yes, sure."
With the passing of the fury of battle, the lack of appeal of the situation began to rise.
Is there anything visibly useful in the beast? Fork it if so. If no, put the thing down with the sword.
Maybe see about using said sinew to fix that bag? Get some of the blood off first please
[Evisceration For Fun And Profit: 2]
As with all fine things in life, the usefulness of a gently steaming pile of bloody organs lies in the eye of the beholder. So if you were to ask, say, a wandering artisan chef or perhaps a complete lunatic on what they could do with this, you'd no doubt would get some form of answer. As it is, however, you're in no mood to get elbow-deep into a still-living creature's innards to harvest its sweetbreads or some nonsense, so instead you draw the sword. The creature shrinks as the blade comes into view, uniformly gray. You raise it quickly and stab it into the thing - no sound is made as it pierces flesh, and the whimpering of the creature is cut off suddenly by a faint whoosh as air rushes into where it once was.
One must compliment you on the choice of material. Livelier than stoat and man, different in many senses. A welcome comparison to be sure.
[A Fistful of Sinew: 3]
As for the sinew in your hand, the blood seems rather an integral part of it that no amount of wringing into the nearby crater of toxic waste can fully remove. You're fairly sure there's something you're supposed to do with it before it's properly suited for repairs, but what that would really be you can only guess. Drying seems like it could go both ways. Burning doesn't seem like a good idea. Smoking, perhaps? Or is that only for food?
Ultimately you just decide to wash it in a nearby puddle and thread your needle with it. Bit of a chunky thread to be sure, but the needle's chunky enough in its own right that you suspect this was the way it was meant to be used anyway. You realize somewhere midway through your repairs to the bedroll that you'll have quite a bit of sinew left over by the end of this. About two feet of it, in fact. This intuition proves accurate as you manage to reseal the bedroll adequately. Still smells like blood (as does the tent, you realize), but you suspect that's just something you'll have to get used to. Claire does not stir one bit as you sit there stitching for about an hour, sleeping soundly with an oddly content, almost happy expression on her face. Must be having a fine dream.
Shouting sounds like a good idea. I'll do that after resting in a dark, relatively clean sport.
[Gimme Shelter: 5]
No shortage of alcoves here. No beds, unfortunately, but between a particularly menacing set of stalagmites off by the side you find a rather well-concealed hidey-hole, where on an overhang above the uncomfortably small entrance you locate what looks to be a kind of guard post, seemingly completely empty - there is a hole in the wall permitting easy view of the chamber, resembling an arrow slit greatly in its construction. It takes a bit of doing to climb up there, requiring full use of your one and a half legs as well as your teeth (side note, the fungus on the walls turns out to be perplexingly delicious).
Beside the arrow slit is a fibrous little bit of bedding, recently used and very orderly, as well as what is clearly a shaft leading upward, complete with a black little trap door at the top, similarly in excellent condition. You decide to be a little more alert than usual in your sleep habits as you lay down to recover, and set your mind's alarm to whenever someone sees fit to bother you before slipping into restfulness.
[Unconscious Perception: 1]
It's a much-needed bit of rest, you find. Lets your stumps scab over, and your body at least somewhat recover from being sliced nearly to bits by that damn dragon. Luckily for them, nobody appears to have worked up the courage to come and poke you while you rest.
However, they do appear to have left something instead, seemingly very gently lowered through the trap door - a basket of apples, you'd guess from the shape in your mind's eye.
"Hm, keep your eye out for any bottles. I have an idea for getting any chemicals we might need, but it's probably more dangerous to attempt inside. Do you know anything besides alcohol that would be useful?"
As we talk I start heading to the next unexplored room in this part of the house. Does it seem like we've still got a lot of exploring/ransacking to do or have we seen most of the house now?
Some form of oil would no doubt be appreciated, the doctor says. Nothing too exotic, mind you, any kind should theoretically do, though obviously the purer the better. Beside that, perhaps some acid or vinegar? She's heard good things about aqua fortis, or maybe aqua regia if you can find some. And soap, soap might work as well.
[The Country House Expedition: 5]
There are two more rooms remaining, and this next one appears to be something of a doozy - the doctor claps her hands together as you enter. A library, ah! Look at all the shelves! And indeed there are quite a few, lining each wall with a few more in the middle, each shelf half-full of a wild variety of scrolls and manuscripts, the other half strewn about on the floor as they have been shaken out of their resting places. The doctor steps to a particular section - history! She- wait, what's this? They've got Urban here! And Fontaine! And Innocent too! What nonsense is this? She pulls a scroll out with a clearly displeased expression. Sun-priest apologetics! The descending moon theory! Bloody heliocentrism! Good heavens, she doesn't even know where to start on- shouldn't they have burnt these? Where's the actual history then? Bewildered, she starts rooting through the shelves and the piles where , each new tome causing even more frustration. Rubbish, all of it!
You leave her to it for a moment and look at the other shelves. There's a fairly meaty section of natural philosophy on a variety of topics, even printed primers and pamphlets on alchemy with curious names like
The Spheres or
The Seasons, their neatly and uniformly printed volumes very much standing out from the artisanal illuminated manuscripts surrounding them. There's what no doubt used to be a whole shelf full of what looks to be original Sun-monastic research on the growing of grapes and making of relatively drinkable wine. And a few manuscripts on the geology of the northlands, even a single anthropological pamphlet on "the myriad folks of the clan-ridden north". You do get the feeling, however, when you discover that "An Inquiry Into The Mechanism of Splintering" appears to have half its volumes very conspicuously missing, that there used to be more here.
One shelf in particular appears to have been completely empty even before its collapse - a single scroll describing best policies on trade with El (such as how exactly an inspector is to determine the difference between their gold and pyrite, and how to spot an alchemical counterfeit coin) would indicate that this was possibly the section on law. The romance section, containing quite a lot of extremely dog-eared and supremely salacious prints of foreign fiction, most of them incredibly fresh and rich in full-color pictures, leaving the single unburned piece of chivalric romance looking downright destitute in comparison, looks to have been nearly bursting with tomes on its end.
And finally there is a section on cartography, which appears to have rested back against the wall and thus not fallen over - the maps here look rather good, if a bit rich in dragons, clearly denoting both the nation of Benzerwald and quite a few places beyond, including the Kingdom of the Dead to the east, the wondrous land of El to the west, the patch of northlands right up to Elizabeth and even slightly beyond, with particular attention devoted to the seven coastal free ports. There's even a map of the very far south, delineating improbable shapes of distant shores with frankly ridiculous names.
Ah, excellent. It would probably be better if I remembered how to cook, but them's the breaks.
There isn't any water and/or pots around here, is there? If not, there's probably ... I dunno, I could spit them on some sticks and roast them like marshmallows or something.
[Kiss the Cook: 3]
Hey, it's not like your companion's likely to complain, so you just stab a twig through all three potatoes and set to roasting them adequately. And adequate is, you suppose, indeed a good word to describe your efforts, the potatoes in question looking somewhat more edible after some time spent above the fire. In a fit of creativity you consider using your murder-thought to peel them, and soon you have a perfectly acceptable mash of potato (and maybe some peel as well, most of it kind of exploded off in the process) ready to eat.
Alphonse, naturally, is still asleep. So you poke him gently in the foot with your vicious mental projection and that springs him to attention quickly enough. You give him your handful of mash. He looks at it in confusion for a second. You motion for him to put it in his face and he decides it best to comply without protest, gobbling it down with extreme urgency. Yes yes very good thank you, he says, very good mash-thing you made there he is now well fed and there are no further problems aside from terrible exhaustion and he thinks he maybe sprained his ankle but that's no problem really did he already say the mash was very good?
Leif Erikson, Miner
- Itchy Woolen Britches (worn)
- Traces of Mischief: No Arms
- 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 Way to Rise
- The Miracle of Life: Wayward Rabbit
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Linen stoat shirt (worn)
- Stoat trousers (worn)
- Comfy slippers (worn)
- Never-made scimitar (blackened, slightly dull)
- Tooth-handled hunting knife
- Black leather boots
- An assemblage of amber and amethysts
- Silver thread-necklace
- Onyx spiral earrings
- 2 oaken rings
- Rusty, bloodstained knife
- A Word: HUNGER
- A Word: SYNTHESIS
- A Weapon: Explosive Cysts
- Grenade Jumping: A Solid Technique
- The Good Doctor: Secret Histories
- Sword of the Sand People: Cleaning Supplies
- Sword of the Sand People: The Services of a Minder
- Higher Tonight: There And Back Again
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Red and gold vest and breeches combo (worn)
- Leather boots
- Rubber mattress (filled with water)
- 14033 gp (in sack)
- Poor Unfortunate Soul: Forever Captive
- 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: A Vague Memory
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- Ranging fork
- 2 feet of sinew-thread
- Make A Man Out Of You: Battle-Tested
- Troubles In Anglefork Town: Bearer of the Sword
- Wounds: 1
- A Word: ABSENCE
- A Word: GOODBYE
- Tooth-needle
- 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: A Hunting Companion
- Body Count: 2
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- The Mind, It Goes A-Wandering: 1
- A Word: REVELATION
- Traces of Mischief: Glowing Facial Rift
- The Serpent's Egg: Dissemination
- Body Count: 4
- Bog mummy (wearing metal helmet)
- 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 Delivery for the Town