Daniels nods in passing to his minions. This was going to be a spectacle, he was sure.
Go sit next to Peaks. I'm gonna be talking to both of them there in any case, I imagine.
You go the entire length of the table, not inconsiderable considering the size of the ship, and sit down next to Peaks. You seem to have a thing for the kitchen, she remarks. Hidden depths, perhaps?
Yeah, you say, shooting a glance at the uneasy balance the metal covers hold over the twin jugglers. Something like that.
They fixed up your friend, by the by, Peaks mentions and points about halfway down the table, where you think you see a mildly rejuvenated Alphonse listening with wide eyes to a dark individual with an ornate pipe in his mouth and fingers that just seem to keep going and never stop. Elementary repairs, apparently, though she has to say you've picked a pretty aged one to take along. She wouldn't peg someone like that as adventure material.
People hold a lot of surprises, Big Dipper interjects, mostly hidden from view by a mound of pungent desserts. The old goat might have at least one good knife fight in him, with adequate prep! Peaks seems to ignore him. Bit shit of Dipper to get sauced like that before the feast, she says after a moment, but otherwise seems like the festivities ought to proceed well. Suppose she can't blame the poor bastard when he gets good news like that. Oh, Shores said that the captain loved the gift, so he ought to be in reasonably good spirits tonight, and that's always a good sign if you value your life and limb. Oh, and there's to be a show as well, right? Something about jugglers?
Yeah, you respond mysteriously enough, you could certainly say that. Ah, you're getting the hang of being a crewman, Peaks chuckles - always be careful to spoil a little too much, no?
Before the conversation can become much more involved than such small talk, the captain makes his entrance, the byzantine door to his quarters unfolding with a series of whirrs and clicks, not so much opening as parting before a procession led by Two Shores, gliding out half-bowed with her sword held in one hand, sweeping it to the side as she takes position at the side of the door.
From The High Promontories Of The Unreachable North It Came With Unknown Tones And Made From Solid Sound The Sharpened Shapes By Which We Were To Live Now And Forever Beneath The Eyes Upon The Wall Which Had No End Or Top, she pronounces evenly in a sonorous voice as the table falls completely silent. Ninth son of the House of Lives As Leaves, chair of the Council of Eventual Emergence, master of the Microscopic Temple of Oceans Spring To Life Anew On The Second Day, captain of the Vault of Heavens and by whose beneficence all those gathered live today, 277th in line for the Sun, rival to its brilliance, charitable to his lessers and merciless to his enemies. Honored peer of the Order of Life Everlasting, now and forever. Now and forever, echoes the table solemnly.
The captain follows soon afterward, gliding much like Shores did, but instead of a clever movement it's a whole operation supported by what looks to be an entire legion of small clay men, hefting the possibly hundred-stone bulk of the man in a surprisingly smooth ride over to the head of the table, where he looms over virtually everything else within sight save the masts, his eyes afire as he bathes in the played-up cheers of the crew - Peaks nudges you to cheer as well, which you decide to do politely before she feels the need to glare.
As the lord and master of this vessel regards the feast ahead of him, you notice that he conserves even the slightest movement as Two Shores kneels at his right hand, sword across her lap. The captain says nothing, merely gives her a meaningful look, and Shores responds by standing up and lifting the sword - by order of the captain, let the feast begin!
Music starts to play as musicians with unusual instruments of leather and sinew file out of the below decks, circling around the table as sailors pass scraps to them, which they accept gracefully. Behind them trail scantily clad dancers, the rhythms of El bouncing thickly through the entire desk as everyone digs in.
The captain's food is kept separate and covered, and you catch the other sailors sneak peeks at it as clay men jump onto the table and drag bits of it around before they grab a terrine and slide it over to the captain - the terrine holds a familiar-looking ghoulish head, and the captain seems to draw a spoon from his sleeve as six minions raise it to a reachable distance, whereupon he pops off the top of its skull and digs in, savoring every sloppy spoonful of misshapen ghoul brain.
His voice shakes the deck, his very soul so bloated that it can't help but wash over you as he speaks, the voice of a thousand years condensed into seconds. The void in your mind pulls toward him, seemingly amazed by the sheer weight of his existence beyond any physical sensation. The other crew turn instantly to him with a look of helpless awe. Only Two Shores remains still and quiet.
A toast, you realized he called as he raised a glass of blood. To the traveler who has joined us. May he find purpose.
May he find purpose, the crew screams.
Speak, traveler, the captain calls to you, and explain what you bring to this table on this night of nights.
Speak, the crew calls to you in utter fascination and raise their glasses.
Next goal confirmed. Convert these pagans, let Yggdrasil root deep in their minds. Let new age of vikings begin! Or never mind about vikings, as long as there's a change Æsir and Vanir will walk on this earth once more. Having minds connected without consent sounds little bad, so better limit mindjacking for proper converts. And true, these are my gods, but they do not belong to me. Sharing is caring as they say. Perhaps I even could make some trustworthy people skálds, people capable of connecting more minds in.
Yeah, sound like a plan.
Now, let's consider first converts. Morag and Lee are probably out, or very late converts if I were to start with Moths. Bruce seems to more receptive person and perhaps... who was it, E... Ernest? No, Earnest. Outside of Moths, next big opportunity will be in Elizabeth during clansmeet. Dragons sound very much like warrior types that would like to have Valhalla and Fólkvangr as backup home in case of sudden violent death. And people talk of Elizabeth like it's alive, so maybe convert the city itself? That would be great, but possibly difficult.
But let's start with things that are closer. Locate some people who seem potential converts and... talk to them I guess.
You snap back to relative reality. Morag appears to have left the nearby area, presumably to look for more supplies. You've been left by the gorge quite alone for the time being - time to look for somebody to start trouble with once again!
[Impressionable Minds: 6]
And who else should you run into than the elder of the Moths himself, walking lazily along the topmost galleries of the cavern complex on what looks to be a regular afternoon ritual for him, collecting fascinating fungi from the walls and shoving them into various places in his robe. As good a place as any to start practicing your pitch - he's about the most amiable fellow around here you know of, or at least in the running for the title.
Has he heard the good news, you decide to lead with a question. Ah, he half-shouts in a way that you suspect someone five caves over could plausibly have heard, you again! Up to your typical antics, are you? Such a scamp!
That's not how this bit goes, you respond rather shortly! He's supposed to ask 'what'.
Hoho, he says, all right - he'll bite, but just this once. What do you mean by that?
Why sir, you respond smoothly, there's a beautiful opportunity you managed to get your hands on not ten minutes ago - it's equal parts time-share and mental mythscape, the residence of the gods themselves!
Hah, this again? The elder seems distinctly amused by the notion. You want to take him into the realm that you occasionally pop off to inhabit?
No, you say, not at all! The realm has been made open to specific interested parties by means of particular techniques you'd rather not get into at the moment, but it's all very modern and clean and, most of all, affordable to people of any means and mental capacity. The only limit is your imagination!
But does he get benefits for getting in on the ground floor, the elder counter-pitches. An early adopter bonus of some kind? You get the sense he's getting into the notion on a certain abstract level, or is at least enjoying this free exchange of nonsense.
You can definitely consider such a thing, but probably only after you've locked in somebody's involvement.
That's wise, he responds, you wouldn't want uncommitted yobs fouling up a fine piece of mental real estate, would you? But let's say you've sold him - can you demonstrate to him how this would work and what he could do in it?
Well, that did seem like an odd request, but he was in a strange land here; Thomas decided not to question local customs. "Ah. Sure, do as you please. I'm going to help set up camp."
Yes, let's camp inside for the night. Help set things up, clear out the more flammable cobwebs, etc.
One does have to ask that you bring the sword over to
touch the wolf so that it may be sampled, yes? Yes, yes, you respond a little absently and extend the sword toward the strange remains - the gray tip of it touches the mummified flesh, and in an instant there is a disconcerting crinkle as it is snapped up and disappears.
What it reveals is far from reassuring, though you can only see little - the crack that the wolf was wedged in goes on. Or, to be exact, it goes downward and then seems to open up, near as you can tell, to some kind of much wider chamber. A few of your compatriots gather around it as you look into it briefly, and Lily throws a pebble down after torchlight fails to penetrate its inky darkness. You wait for several minutes as several other stones are thrown down, but no sound is heard, and nothing can be seen. Helen, quite curious, throws a flame down to check, but this too is immediately swallowed by the dark, seemingly quenched by the air itself.
You wisely decide not to camp next to it.
The rest gather into the various storerooms and you help make camp as you sort the foreboding chambers into something approaching a camp, and at Tabernacle's suggestion post guards at the staircase entrance - for the first watch the largest treefisher they call Babs, famed for how loud she can yell when properly pushed. There's little doubt that if anything turns up she'll do her best.
[Signs of the Deep: 1]
You settle in afterwards - the bedding is far from comfortable, the chambers feel eerily silent even in the middle of a conversation and you regrettably have to camp in the room with the gaping hole into subterranean impenetrable darkness after everyone else seems to have called dibs on the smaller rooms, leaving you, Silver and Tabernacle in the wine storeroom as you hear fading conversation coming from the other chambers, struggling to reach you despite being less than fifty feet away at most.
Silver is having trouble remaining chipper as his eyes wander to the hole in the ground. Tabernacle silently curses his persistently terrible luck. It slowly begins to occur to you that you're not entirely comfortable falling asleep - at least falling asleep before the others, you think. The shadows gather as your pitiful little firelight begins to turn to mere embers.
"Not a sweetheart as such, no. More a whale. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that? I don't even know if they'd appreciate perfume, never met one before to be honest."
Gift advice time. Then maybe a look round the labs?
[A Whale of a Gift: 4]
A whale, she hums to herself - not quite the answer she expected, you can tell, but she turns it into a grin nevertheless. You've,
hic, picked a fun one to court! She can appreciate a,
hurk, specialized taste in this sort of thing - and she'd be absolutely delighted to help you. She's a,
gurk, a true romantic at heart, did you know?
Yes, she stumbles to her feet and bids you to rise with entrepreneurial enthusiasm, why,
hic, why, she does believe there is advice she can give you! And a gift, of course! It's a very particular aroma,
hic, a very particular aroma indeed! She's got just the thing, just the thing for that eastern wind, a thing plucked from the very,
hurk, the very, very depths of the ancient Makalan states? She's always dreamed of having a,
hic, having a,
hiccup, having an actual whale for a client!
Though there is the,
hic, the question of what you could offer in return, if anything at all. Your company is unexpected and delightful, that's quite terribly true. But while her business is notional on most days, it is nevertheless a,
hurk, business!
Leif Erikson, Miner and Lush
- Sealed alchemist's brass box
- Half-basket of apple-like mushrooms (hallucinogenic)
- Paper party crown (worn)
- Moth-robe (worn)
- Itchy Woolen Britches (worn)
- A Word: INEVITABLE
- A Word: APOCALYPSE
- A Word: DRINK
- Body Count: 228
- Mead of Poetry (4 shining revelations remaining)
- Enders' Friend: The Grave of Red Clouds Parting
- Inscribed Wooden Stylus
- Iron spear
- 0.03 gp
- The Box: ?
- Induced Lucidity: Jehwlheimr, The Land The Gods Remember
- Compatibility: Minding
- Tricks of the Mind: Perception, Memory
- Tricks of the Mind: Engagement, Negation, Abstraction, Prestige
- Tricks of the Mind: the Self, the Other
- Tricks of the Mind: the Mythscape
- 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: Honorary Clansman
- A Night That Burns Forever: Juicy Gossip
- The Miracle of Life: Wayward Rabbit
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- The Mind, It Goes A-Wandering: 1
- Distilled alcohol (in flask)
- Spirits of salt (in clay jar)
- Soaps of elk, bear, bat and snake
- 4 flasks of lamp oil
- Oil lamp (lit)
- Linen stoat shirt (worn, plasma-scorched)
- 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
- The Old Mistress: Like A House On Fire
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Wounds: 1
- Red and gold vest and breeches combo (worn)
- Leather boots (worn)
- Rubber mattress (filled with water)
- 14031 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 Word: EXECRABLE
- A Weapon: Murder-Thought
- Uncoupled: Strength
- Wooden Door
- Induced Lucidity: The Silent Garden
- Elongated Affairs: Enemy of the New State
- A Place In History: Vastly Unreliable
- 2 rats, crushed
- 1 rat, strangled
- 1 rat, live
- 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 Vault of Heavens: Special Treatment
- Scars of Time: Practiced Acquaintance
- The Night Sky: A Useful Fellow Is He
- Petty Crimes: Minded For Safety
- Fires, Pines & Day, Minions At Law: On Retainer
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- Wounds: 2
- A Word: ABSENCE
- A Word: GOODBYE
- A Word: WORM
- A Weapon: The Sword They Fear
- Insurance contracts, signed in triplicate: 13
- Gamble
- Nobody Cares
- Helen Clampitt
- Lily
- Undine and Prosper Eke
- Silver
- Tabernacle, treefisher scout
- Treefisher elder
- 4 treefishers
- Make A Man Out Of You: Battle-Tested
- The Grip of Tharn: Insurance Against The Storm
- Ranging fork
- 2 feet of sinew-thread
- Tooth-needle
- A Bowl, Black and Knobby
- Tight Leather Pants (worn)
- Incredibly Tight Blue Dress (worn, mutilated, mildly provocative)
- The Queen's Guard: A Reward Well Earned
- The New Queen: Lasting Gratitude
- The Box: Absolutely Delightful
- Bloody Well Kicked Off: Defeated
- Body Count: 12
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- A Word: REVELATION
- The Wicked King's Missive On Economic Reform (in massive silver scroll case)
- Wounds: 1 (alleviated)
- Traces of Mischief: Glowing Facial Rift
- The Serpent's Egg: Dissemination
- Body Count: 4
- Cornerstone Helm (worn, collecting light)
- Bottle of aspirin
- Time-ender's measure (wrapped, processing? stopping?)
- 10 m of rope
- Half a candle
- 1 rat, skinless and smoked
- 6 gp
- 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
- The King's Court: The Greatest Gift of All
- The King's Court: The North Wind's Gift
- The King's Court: The East Wind's Gift
- The King's Court: The South Wind's Gift
- The King's Court: The West Wind's Gift
- The King's Court: A Gift For The Wicked King
- Wizzards Bargins: A Spool of Copper Wire
- Wizzards Bargins: A Roll of Your Finest Sticky Tape
- Wizzards Bargins: A Hunk of Exquisite Graphite