Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 264173 times)

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #2175 on:** May 02, 2017, 04:49:45 am »

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on April 29, 2017, 10:47:56 am

"What?"

That's just wrong. Pluck my third eye from my forehead and toss it high into the sky so it can watch everything here at once. To keep things in motion.

Lazy bastards.

[The Eye In The Sky: 5]

Your eye settles far above the realm of Jehwlheimr, shining fierce and yellow where the sun once was, and suddenly the world comes alive as you take in its entirety and your mind floods with gods bursting into divine antics. A sudden pain in your temple flares as multithreaded thought begins to take its toll, not as a background process but as a very much active one. Information floods into you about mythologies repeating themselves. Grand histories begin to form.

Jehwlheimr hums to life as trees take shape in the distance and each god finds a name, and all things find their natural places and driving urges, animated by your impulses and brought to something resembling genuine life. Not a place of myth anymore, you don't think, but to some degree legitimately alive.

[Absolutely Divine: 3]

You hear the sound of someone building a longhouse in the distance, gods negotiating contracts and drinking of their own volition as opposed to mimicking your own attempts. There is more of you in them now, for better or worse, though you do hope you have enough left for yourself.

She was gonna say there's a difference between seeing something and noticing something, Morag starts to say, but then she did forget you're a minder. Still, she's had about enough of this. Can she get out already? She's getting dangerously close to sobriety.

Quote from: Xantalos on April 30, 2017, 09:45:39 pm

"Hmm. Well, I've always liked the idea of a giant blob of flesh following me around to devour my foes. My teachers were always worried about it, but look at me now!
Trouble is I already convinced it to go in there to be eaten. Hmm. I suppose I'll have to try this intuition thing out."

Look deep within myself! Not necessarily that far, but y'know. Intuition level. What does my gut tell me I should do with this massive hunk of apparently sentient horse flesh?

[A Father's Intuition: 3]

... single combat, your intuition tells you. It's the old half-and-half solution - you've got two hunks of flesh that you split in half, and you still gotta eat. So the simplest solution, clearly, is to have them duel each other to the death to see which one survives and can be pronounced worthy of continued existence. The other one gets to be food.

There's an idea, one of the cooks says. But you have to have an audience for optimum effect, and probably some kind of table arrangement for optimum spectator action. And a betting pool of some kind, the other cook adds enthusiastically, and his associate nods sagely.

You know something, the other cook adds, he bets the cap'n would love to see a thing like that, food fighting itself. You could save the prizefight for the feast - an hour or two from now is when the festivities are scheduled to begin. Yeah, the first cook starts to nod enthusiastically, plenty of time to make a dinnerplate of honor for them to wrestle on. Would need to work out some rules for them to follow, of course. You want a good, clean fight when you have as much grease as those things continually secrete. Maybe set up some twine to make ring aprons, or a delicate arrangement of meats if you want to get fancy with it.

The cooks begin to chatter between themselves about the theoretical basis for such an undertaking, leaving you standing by the oven, listening to the slowly fading tapping on the door as the jugglers begin to lose interest.

Quote from: TopHat on May 01, 2017, 03:41:30 pm

"I'd love some, thank you.
What was the experiment, if you don't mind me asking?"

Time for a hopefully-pleasant cuppa and a chat about labwork. Not like the day can get any stranger.

You are invited into a parlor where the natural humidity seems to have been supplanted by sheer dint of turpentine, and sit down on a couch that squeaks like a balloon. Dimly lit pictures hang all around you on the walls, portraits of severe-looking individuals from many an age and style. You manage to read the writing under one - the name means nothing to you, but apparently his work as a professor of analytical chemistry in the Makalan universities was of some note if you believe your host.

[Her Unlife's Work: 2+1]

Meanwhile, the woman, who introduces herself as Lady Craik, busies herself with preparing you a spot of tea as you chat about experiments. She appears to be less an academic and more a practical sort. Her latest experiment, in fact, appears to relate to the extraction of a particular scent from something that a fisher brought to her - it seemed to be really, hack, really quite unique, she maintains. Probably the most singularly bloody, hurk, bloody unpleasant thing she's ever had in here! Simply brilliant!

The tea appears to be 96% machine-grade ethanol with a touch of Earl Grey, you discover from a casual sip. Easier to extract the, hic, good bits that way, Lady Craik says. The crumpets, meanwhile, are coated in half an inch of varnish for flavor, and when you look upon them you feel the gravity of interminable ages staring right back at you. The lady just knocks back the tea and takes ready bites of crumpet with disturbing lack of visible effort.

Lady Craik herself seems pleasant enough though, if extremely disposed to giggling and not very steady on her feet. She's run the place for many, many, many years now. Found the whole, hurk, the whole neighborhood empty, can you believe that, fully stocked pharmacy and all. She used to have, hic, girls working here who'd bring her things from all over town, don't you know, amassed quite a collection! The old alderman used to call at Lady Craik's Emporium not all that long ago! New one's not quite as, hurm, on the ball about things, if you ask her. The old alderman, now there was a tremendous fellow - barely fit into his own tower some days, she recalls!

But you're looking pretty, hic, pretty lively there, Mr. Wilde, she takes your hand. New in town, if she's guessed correctly? Looking for a gift, perhaps, for a, hurk, lovely sweetheart of yours?

Quote from: Toaster on May 01, 2017, 03:47:36 pm

Well, this is starting to look obvious. "Okay. We'll head for the monastery; sounds like a great place to camp. Everyone knows there's no such thing as ghosts. We'll just have to avoid the highway as we move north; I can't stand the thought of spiders. Let's move out. Wish I had my camera; quite a lovely view."

Aim for the clearing. Let's try to get there without being noticed by anything else.

Funny, says Tabernacle, the lad who came screaming from that direction didn't believe in ghosts either.

You gather the treefishers and make your way down the far slope, laden with supplies meticulously looted from the hilltop camp. Progress is quite slow in the coming hours, but you manage to eventually build up a good pace as an acceptable way to carry the injured is figured out and you hit the woods below.

For what it's worth, you wouldn't say they're terribly foreboding woods, and seem to be quite replete with well-trod paths. Which ain't a good sign, Helen is quick to mention. Prolly clansmen about, Lily adds. Let them come, says Gamble, they taught a good lesson to the last bunch who saw fit to screw around with the well-insured!

Nobody stops occasionally to regard the trees - they're curious, in a sense. Never seen pines that twist like that, personally, and they grow out at odd angles in places. You nearly trip over a root at one point before you realize it's actually an old crossbeam that some tree roots have merely wrapped around for support in the sandy and inhospitable soil. The elevation here is considerable, and you very often see the land wave upward in a fashion that suggests frequent rising and falling, and little networks of exposed and withered tree roots show up where the latest upheaval has precipitously raised the land no more than perhaps a century ago.

As the sun begins to set, every so often you see little fires at the top of the pines, bright discharges of bubbling white light reaching toward the heavens. Occasionally you look up and see that the sky looks a little closer than usual in the north, and the slowly emerging stars larger than you remember them, seen not from behind clouds but seemingly from atop them...

[Making Good Progress: 5]

You make it to the monastery just before dusk has proceeded in earnest, though the dark can't be too far off now. The stone ruins may have been quite tall and imposing once, but time and tide has worn them down to largely featureless nubs of masonry you'd almost mistake for natural rocks. The old compound is filled with tall grass sprinkled with late spring flowers getting the most out of their bloom, losing petals left and right as they show obvious signs of decrepitude. But the clearing is free of brambles and, with some doing, would likely make a good spot to camp under the stars (that is, Tabernacle says, if you keep good watch and have weapons ready in case of any trouble) if you didn't mind the way it seems completely silent - no trace of birdsong on the air, and even the wind appears to be completely quiet here. Not even the sound of flies buzzing in the air.

There's also, you discover on closer examination of the site, what looks to be a staircase leading down into the basement, which is appropriately pitch black and doesn't smell very good, Undine reports. Seems deep though, Prosper adds, and echoes real nice. Could be a good place for shelter, out of sight of any beast of the wilderness, the treefisher elder mentions. Especially for the injured folk, the largest treefisher adds, if there's really nothing in there. Might wanna check, just to be sure.

One can't help but have an interesting feeling about this place. A delightfully lifeless sense to it.

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

AoshimaMichio · « **Reply #2176 on:** May 02, 2017, 10:02:43 am »

"Oh, sure. Sobriety is easy enough to fix, but here's the door. I'll hang here a little bit more."

There's a door out, right behind her.
After she's gone, lay down and figure ways to separate what's in them and what's left for me. As a way to reduce headache, greater degree of separation. Contemplate possibility of sharing the burden of sustaining this realm, perhaps if I were to convert people to worship my true gods then maybe I could link their minds here.

Toaster · « **Reply #2177 on:** May 02, 2017, 01:28:32 pm »

The sense of adventure and adrenaline had leveled off after the ridge fight, but it did seem much more reasonable to head inside. "Well, as long as it's not too deep, it's worth looking inside."

Check out the cellar. Consider its feasibility for shelter.

Xantalos · « **Reply #2178 on:** May 03, 2017, 04:22:44 am »

Well then. Best start explaining this to the jugglers themselves.

Engage my piles of squealing semi-alive horseflesh in an exciting speech about the glory of martial combat and the inherent worth of trials to prove oneself through adversity. Hype them up for what's to come, basically.

penguinofhonor · « **Reply #2179 on:** May 04, 2017, 08:17:37 am »

"I think we should scout around more before heading south. There have been some big changes in this region, and we need to know about them if we're going to blend in. There's a fork in the road nearby that leads to a village - we should head there and ask some questions, maybe try to barter for supplies."

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #2180 on:** May 04, 2017, 11:17:14 am »

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on May 02, 2017, 10:02:43 am

"Oh, sure. Sobriety is easy enough to fix, but here's the door. I'll hang here a little bit more."

There's a door out, right behind her.
After she's gone, lay down and figure ways to separate what's in them and what's left for me. As a way to reduce headache, greater degree of separation. Contemplate possibility of sharing the burden of sustaining this realm, perhaps if I were to convert people to worship my true gods then maybe I could link their minds here.

Thanks, she says as she turns on her heel and heads for the rather convenient door - you have fun in fantasyland, she's got other shit to do. And through the door she goes, back into wakefulness.

[Managing Mindscapes: 5]

Now alone, you settle against the persistent background of ceaseless activity and stare soulfully into your own eye in the sky.

Yeah, you guess there's something you could do here. Wouldn't even be too difficult, mind you - a subtle reconfiguration, a realignment of the world tree if you will. Currently it's rooted in your own notions of what it should be, but it wouldn't be that terribly difficult to pull somebody else's ideas into it, have the tree feed off their imaginations and mental processes so that it can grow stronger. Perhaps even with their own consent. It'd require a relinquishing of your sole mastery of the place, of course, but the gains, the gains!

Imagine not a mindscape, but a mythscape - a brand new, tangible folklore that you pass on to whoever you meet, and that anyone contributes to over the basic framework you have laid down of names, places and people. A realm that doesn't merely reflect dreams, but feeds on them and regurgitates hope into a shared dreamworld.

You figure it wouldn't be very difficult to bring someone in. Easier if they agree, of course, and do not resist, but that's certainly not obligatory. Somebody wholly untrained could no more resist you stealing their dreams than they could resist dreaming in the first place. Indeed, perhaps they wouldn't even notice if you did it right. It all sounds remarkably doable, now that you stop and think about it, and though you can only begin to suspect the practical applications of this, it'd definitely be something useful to you if you decide to exploit it.

Quote from: Toaster on May 02, 2017, 01:28:32 pm

The sense of adventure and adrenaline had leveled off after the ridge fight, but it did seem much more reasonable to head inside. "Well, as long as it's not too deep, it's worth looking inside."

Check out the cellar. Consider its feasibility for shelter.

[The Gloom Below: 3]

You arrange for Silver to carry a torch behind you as you venture into the cellar, sword held toward any potential ornery beasts that might hope for an easy meal. It sheds precious little light on the cellar itself. The darkness here feels persistent, and the narrow hallway you walk down into is filled with several layers of ancient cobwebs that feel oily on your hands as you brush them aside.

The cellar is composed of storerooms throughout - about eight in total of varying sizes, ranging from one the size of a broom closet to an outlier at the end that looks to have been a wine cellar. The only signs of life you find are a pile of spider husks, all gathered into a single corner of the wine storeroom, and what looks to be an ancient mummified wolf, most of its body seemingly wedged into a crevice where the floor and part of the wall appear to have split open. Its withered paws are spread outward, suggesting somebody must have pushed it in there, although there are no tracks in the dust of the cellar beyond your own.

Your footfalls echo in the completely silent space of the cellar and crunch resoundingly on occasional desiccated debris, giving it an impression of great enormity, and the looming, thick shadows press upon the back of your mind when you look away from a corner or a chamber. Even the timeworn brickwork seems notionally unfriendly to human life, leaving your fingertips very cold when you inadvertently brush up against it once or twice in the meager light of the torch.

You do find a vent, however, leading up to a distant point of sky that for a second seems physically improbable for how relatively short the flight of stairs that led you here was. Quite an optical illusion, you suppose. You then turn to Silver - seems like a good place to maybe build a fire, he says, wouldn't even need much firewood with all these cobwebs and old trash. His chuckle is a tad nervous, you think.

But that wolf, one feels the need to remark as the sword quivers in your hand, that wolf looks quite interesting. One can't help but be tempted by such a beautiful mummification. Would you permit a sampling?

Quote from: Xantalos on May 03, 2017, 04:22:44 am

Well then. Best start explaining this to the jugglers themselves.

Engage my piles of squealing semi-alive horseflesh in an exciting speech about the glory of martial combat and the inherent worth of trials to prove oneself through adversity. Hype them up for what's to come, basically.

[Rise To The Challenge Of Our Rival: 6+1]

Violence is something you can speak of with authority, and in detail. Fighting is what you are, in a sense, and what you hoped to teach in your life before you came here. This, you feel, is something of a magnum opus among all of your teachings, and you get the sense that the jugglers hear and understand more of it than you could have ever hoped, and possibly some things you do not yet understand yourself.

When they come out of the oven, there is a hum of deliberation within both of them, and the cooks are delighted when they come quietly underneath elaborate metal lids that they put on the large plates. The last glance exchanged between the two jugglers is one of fatal consideration. At tonight's feast, two will enter the ring of honor. Hopefully one will leave.

You hear bubbling underneath the plates, followed by hissing, chittering and an assortment of sounds you can't easily identify by name. You offer words of encouragement in passing, but they do not appear to need them. You have impressed upon them all the purpose in the world.

...

Not too long afterward you have prepared a feast, your jugglers forming a mystery centerpiece that you hear Shores and Peaks speculate about and that the cooks only dare to smile about when asked. The whole crew of the Vault of Heavens has gathered by the time of the feast's beginning, and the foods on display are something you'd expect of a king's reception. The head of the table is reserved for the captain, who judging by the space left appears to have enough breadth and reach to accommodate three men, and his food is of a separate class entirely.

The crew joke to each other at the gathering, a lot of the faces looking at least mildly familiar after your day in Hornsweir. All of them at least recognize you, and bid you very respectful greetings at that as you pass. It seems you're the guest of honor. You notice nobody's touched the food yet as you glance to the two covered plates in the center ringed by a rather fancy cheese arrangement.

Fires, Day and a small, furtive-looking woman you assume is Pines sit almost as far along the enormous feast table (seemingly folded out of the deck, as you can't imagine anybody carried it over here) as it is possible for a crew member. Fires and Day wave to you cheerfully, while Pines nods with what you assume is polite deference in the face of potential great violence. They seem to have told her a lot about you, some of it perhaps even true.

You almost stop at their spot before you notice the other end, where the officers are gathered - Two Shores is nowhere to be seen just yet, but Peaks has occupied a lotus position on a cushion on the left side of the table, eying a bottle of El-made wine with anticipation, while Big Dipper sits on the right, self-satisfied and evidently having helped himself to a bit more rum since you saw him last. Peaks notices you first, her eyes locking on to you in a way that nearly fixes you to the spot before she ever-so-slightly gestures for you to come sit with her. Big Dipper, though slower to notice you, is no less enthusiastic about calling you over to sit with him in a much more overt and overtly inebriated way.

Quote from: penguinofhonor on May 04, 2017, 08:17:37 am

"I think we should scout around more before heading south. There have been some big changes in this region, and we need to know about them if we're going to blend in. There's a fork in the road nearby that leads to a village - we should head there and ask some questions, maybe try to barter for supplies."

This is deemed a good enough plan for the moment - the doctor in particular seems relieved, and you head out to scout to take advantage of all the daylight you can get.

[A Pruned Fork: 4]

The less-used path on the fork, its cobblestones removed through meticulous deconstruction, leads to a no less meticulously deconstructed village a few miles off, its fields all burnt and the land very obviously shuffled to hide any trace of farms, the buildings torn down and the materials probably carted off elsewhere, right down to the foundations. A landscape of mounds remains where once was a village, an obsessive and misguided coverup of the clearing of a whole community off the face of the earth.

The site, it should be said, is not entirely abandoned - what remains is a single watchtower, and in it is what seems like a stoatman all too eager to see you. He nearly falls out of the watchtower in his attempt to get to you quickly, and you see Oggie tense up as it becomes obvious that he is some kind of levy, though not obviously armed as he runs on stubby legs to meet you, his back waving with exertion as he waves his arms and pants through many rows of teeth.

Halt, you hear him proclaim as he gets close enough, who's that coming there? Two ladies and, you notice him adjust a pair of spectacles, some kind of strange creature? Oggie growls at him a little and he shrinks back, then turns to you - is that your dog? Is it vaccin- ahem, he clears his throat as Oggie leans toward him and pauses to catch his breath.

Right, he says, he's supposed to say, well, he's supposed to say there's nothing to see here and you should move along, right? There's an inn back up the road, the proprietor's a good woman. This is just an, er... watch station. Yes, a watch station. Watching out for wild beasts, or something. There's a lot of those about, did you know, nasty bloody things. Mostly they come out at night though, so as long as you're careful then you ought to be perfectly fine! Perfectly fine, yes indeed.

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

Xantalos · « **Reply #2181 on:** May 04, 2017, 01:25:12 pm »

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.

AoshimaMichio · « **Reply #2182 on:** May 04, 2017, 02:02:36 pm »

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.

Toaster · « **Reply #2183 on:** May 05, 2017, 04:39:59 pm »

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.

TopHat · « **Reply #2184 on:** May 06, 2017, 02:31:49 pm »

"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?

Harry Baldman · « **Reply #2185 on:** May 07, 2017, 05:05:44 pm »

Quote from: Xantalos on May 04, 2017, 01:25:12 pm

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.

Quote from: AoshimaMichio on May 04, 2017, 02:02:36 pm

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?

Quote from: Toaster on May 05, 2017, 04:39:59 pm

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.

Quote from: TopHat on May 06, 2017, 02:31:49 pm

"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!

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

penguinofhonor · « **Reply #2186 on:** May 07, 2017, 07:03:51 pm »

Well. Not quite what I expected. Maybe we can get some information from this guy, at least.

"My friends and I are sightseers, looking to experience everything your great nation has to offer. Could you tell us a little about the surrounding area? We tried to ask at the inn but the innkeeper seems to be out on an errand."

AoshimaMichio · « **Reply #2187 on:** May 08, 2017, 02:02:50 am »

Alright, he's willing. Bring him in.

As for early adopter's bonus... well, I suppose there's possibility of having slightly increased authority amongst his peers, being a bit more equal than others, you know? Perhaps transmit messages to fellow clanmates through mythspace without actually being earshot of them. Not sure if that's possible, but we could test it. Maybe allow him to have his own dream building, leave his permanent mark in the world... I suppose there are options. Having large number of followers would allow gods to have very solid knowledge about affairs of mortals, that ought to be helpful when asking assistance from them.

Oh, and make the memory theater private property, as well as the outdoor theater which displays what my eyes see. No need to let every visitor see those. But gods of course have permissions, how could I deny them.

Xantalos · « **Reply #2188 on:** May 10, 2017, 12:17:07 am »

Ah, no wonder Rainbow wanted to get her claws on him so badly, Daniels muses as he stands.

"Friends, I've wandered this world and the one before for quite some time without a clear purpose, it's true. But as empty in my soul as those days were, they did teach me a vital lesson, one I still hold dear today: Strife is the root of enlightenment. If the world were a perfect place where all was provided for us and there was no need to desire something better, would any of us be worthy as individuals as we are today? Would we truly know life? I think not. The struggle to improve your situation and self is what makes us who we are! It's what makes me what I am. And tonight I wish to demonstrate the value of that lesson to you."

He dramatically gestures to the juggler plates.

"Tonight you will witness two unformed beings, half-realized potential only actual used to this point at all, battle for the right to exist as a fully-fledged individual! Not only will it be a spectacle of violence, but a tangible instance of a being clawing its way into fruition! Two halves will enter the conflict. The one that leaves will be a whole. Crew of the Vault of Heavens, I give to you..."

I've always wanted to say something like this.

"JUGGLERMANIA SHOWDOWN TURBO SLAM!"

Make sure to use a dramatic, passionate voice while saying all that.

Toaster · « **Reply #2189 on:** May 10, 2017, 09:46:50 am »

Surely there's something to put in front of the hole? Block it up a bit? If not, deal with it.

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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 264173 times)

Harry Baldman

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Xantalos

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