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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written  (Read 262390 times)

TopHat

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2190 on: May 10, 2017, 03:33:57 pm »

"What can I offer? Little tangible, I'm afraid. Advice, knowledge, an education, perhaps, is the payment I can give."
Surely there's something I can teach her. Some experimental technique or synthesis, maybe?
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2191 on: May 11, 2017, 04:34:43 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."

[I See Nothing, I Know Nothing: 2]

Sightseers, he says with a mystified expression, where from? And why? Good god, why come here of all places? Not that there's anything here, oh no, nothing at all.

Surely he couldn't have missed these lush woods, or the roadside inn, you say. And he didn't, thank you very much. Can hardly beat away all the things that live in the woods around here, the watchstoat relates. And the poor woman at the roadside inn, she tries her hardest too, you know. Brings him food and drink, sometimes! Poor old lonely girl, sitting on a dead inn on land like this. He's been places, you know, places like this - used to be in the army and what have you, marched on the big crusade, hunted the damn old king all the way to the north, like the good speakers said they should! And can't say no to the speakers, you understand, not if you like your bits in place and your soul intact.

He pauses, his black eyes darting around in a sudden flash of terror. He takes a step back, then sighs with relief. Always feels like they're listening. Anyway, would you like to visit the tower? It's got a fine view of all this great lot of nothing about if you'd like to come up and make sure. A shame a place as barren as this can't have the decency to also be boring.

[A Peculiar Scene: 6]

The doctor looks at the watchtower, a rickety wooden thing constructed out of a great number of planks, its backbone clearly formed by the central bronze ladder, probably once capable of folding up, but not since somebody nailed it to the ground.

Odd, she says, the more horrible things you hear about in the woods around here aren't the sort to be befuddled by ladders. Or doors. Or sometimes walls, if you believe the stories.

The watchstoat shivers at the memory - the things here don't climb. Don't get him wrong, he says, he's sure they could if they really wanted to - bastard things are like cats, see, but toothier, bigger, with white shining eyes. Seven of them come along every night, then they sit in a circle and, well... well, they just mewl. But it's a mewl like you wouldn't believe - cuts to the bone. Maybe to the soul.

Oggie, observing with interest, leans in and sniffs the air. Peculiar stoat - marked with something. Noxious, but saddening.

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.

You let the elder into your burgeoning mythscape, and immediately you feel a sudden sense of relief as he looks around the area, scratching his head. Aha, he says, it's exactly like he remembers these things! Good show, very quick work!

He steps forward into the Field of Deeds, where a few Æsir not very keen on learning from history amuse themselves by throwing spears at a shiny fellow and laughing as they miss completely. The elder goes over immediately to have a chat with them, slapping one of them on the back hard enough to knock them over.

Supposing he'd best be left to his own devices for a moment, you take a moment to shunt your memory theater and viewing area into a different mindscape, which they do quite readily with a cheery BWOOOoooooooooo as they disappear from immediate observation and presumably land on a different branch. You leave an eight-legged horse for any divine to ride into there if they'd like to see what you're up to. None take the offer up just yet, it seems.

Before you're quite done, you are slapped suddenly on the back by the elder in a very familiar fashion and fall face first to the ground. Haha, he says, sorry about that! Anyway, he starts saying before you get up, quite a nice place you have here! He could envision a great deal of applications for it! So the first question, he says, is how would he go about getting someone else in? You wouldn't happen to have some kind of minder trick to let him do it to someone, he imagines you could fix something in a jiffy if you put your mind to it, isn't that right? Hoho!

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.

The table listens in rapt attention, most with a sort of unthinking exultation. You see Alphonse with his mouth wide open, Peaks is staring at you with her strange eyes sparkling and utterly mesmerized, Dipper has slumped forward on the table and is reaching slowly toward the captain as you would toward a distant sun. Only Two Shores listens with a politely raised eyebrow. This sort of reply isn't really protocol, you get from her look, which rapidly turns to abject surprise as you announce the main event.

[Whatcha Gonna Do, Brother: 2]

The covers fly up into the air as the jugglers spring into action, two inhuman colossi of leathery, desiccated bacon. One bristles with dripping claws, droplets of which leave cigarette burns on faces and slowly eat through the bronze table as a careless swing sends them flying all around, contorting on its six equivalent limbs with far, far too many joints as it bounces toward its adversary. The other one is, if anything, even more horrible, buzzing like a plague of locusts as a dozen trap jaws on it open and stingers blossom on every inch of its streamlined form.

[JUGGLERMANIA: 2 vs. 5]

They crash into each other with a horrendous shriek echoed by a few members of the audience as alien acids get into regrettable places - a crewman freed of the spellbinding thrall of the captain decides to leap overboard immediately as he screams from the developing chemical burns. Bits of sizzling rubbery meat fly into faces and on plates, insects violently spilling out of them every which way. You catch a glimpse of the second juggler, flying in an arc as its jaws snap asynchronously, its adversary momentarily de-limbed and sent tumbling along the length of the table, disintegrating a beautiful roast boar with its thrashing as it prepares to leap upward.

[SHOWDOWN: 5 vs. 6]

The acidic juggler breaks into a dead sprint, not pausing for a second as it turns right upward and sprints up the mast and dives into the flying one from above - claws fly and serrated jaws snap as a rain of flesh and acid comes down upon the feast in anticipation of the meteoric drop of the two jugglers - the table nearly snaps in half and the feast flies into the air in a ballet of extraordinary ruination, the flying one driving its opponent into the unforgiving metal with all the downward force its dozen wings could muster. Bugs of shapes and sizes you haven't seen spill like a newborn sea over the food on display, boiling blood scalding the nearest unfortunate sailors as they hit the deck.

[TURBO SLAM: 3]

The formerly spellbound crew watch in horror as the flying juggler rises from the table, the acidic one stuck in its torso. A shriek of pure, unadulterated death fills the feast as the victorious juggler reaches an efficient completion amid a rain of sweetmeats, driving slightly under half of those remaining to run for their lives in terrible error as one final, reflexive spray of corrosive spit covers the remains of the table and anyone who hadn't been wise enough to hit the deck promptly.

The whole juggler looks at the destruction around itself with a sense of closure as the more broadly profiled foods arrive last on the table and the surroundings with a deafening patter in the stunned silence. It folds inward somewhat, mildly disappointed that it didn't even get to use the really cool weapons yet, its jagged form deflating to a more manageable and smooth eight feet in length, then it drops on all sixes and swivels its terrible scolex to look around. More to indicate that it's done here than out of necessity, considering how many eyes it has.

You can't exactly call the ensuing period a stunned silence, not with so many folk wailing like that. But it does certainly appear to have given the key figures some pause. Peaks leans out briefly from cover, then ducks down again. Dipper splashes overboard in a panic before he remembers that he could swim before he could walk. Two Shores stares out in a mix of extraordinary alarm and mild awe at the display, then inspects her sword briefly for any acid damage. Your three minions seem to have had the sense to dive overboard before anything happened to them. Alphonse is screaming to high heaven and clutching his face while a physician calmly describes his selection of soothing balms and half-masks. A cook wipes a proud tear from his eye.

The captain appears to have taken a full face blast of errant flesh-eating mucus quite well, which is to say that it has slid off him like quicksilver. When he speaks, you can hardly hear him.

How quaint, you think he said before his legion of homunculi slowly raise him up again and glide him toward the quarters rapidly - the door unfolds like its job is on the line, and whirrs shut loud enough to make one's feelings clear. Two Shores rushes to follow after a second's distraction, but bumps into the door as a time-honored manipulation fails to take hold. She looks at the mechanism in utter puzzlement.

You look at the juggler, who starts grazing on the solid turf of mangled food. A bit lacking in protein, it clicks to you conversationally. Quite good otherwise.

Something at your peripheral vision. You turn to look - a homunculus has stepped into a pool of misplaced corrosive mucus. It turns to the sky in a pantomime plea, waving its arms as its legs slowly disappear into the mass, mutely cursing cruel fate.

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

[Out of Sight: 4]

You try debris, but none of the available kind is large enough to cover it. You borrow some leaf-leather from Nobody down the hall, but that wafts into the hole suddenly when you're not looking. Not to be deterred, you borrow some more and also forage for some bricks topside, and shortly you've managed a nice enough covering for the hole, at least to the point where you don't think bats could get up through it. Silver and Gamble seem to find it acceptable enough, and so you lay down to rest.

[From The Depths: 5]

You're sleeping well enough, you think. Until you're not. Always the tricky thing with sleep, that. You open your eyes to the pitch blackness of the chamber, the lantern that lit your way having been extinguished come bedtime.

You can't move, you don't think. And you can't feel yourself breathe, or even feel much of anything aside from the persistent, blanket-penetrating chill and stillness of this cellar. But you do see something. A figure, darker still than the shapeless oneness of the rest of the wine storeroom. It looks down at you without eyes.

Employ more caution, it says. It is unwise to sleep near open holes.

You awaken in pitch blackness. Gamble is snoring, sounding like he's half a mile away in the consuming gloom.

"What can I offer? Little tangible, I'm afraid. Advice, knowledge, an education, perhaps, is the payment I can give."
Surely there's something I can teach her. Some experimental technique or synthesis, maybe?

You haven't quite seen her lab, but there's a good chance she doesn't know how to do a Diels-Alder reaction. You've got that going for you, at least.

[Can We Work Something Out: 4+1]

Lady Craik, naturally, only becomes more delighted when you start to explain. You've got, you figure out reasonably quickly, about a century of the history of organic chemistry to get through, and that's before things get esoteric. And she's more than willing to listen, if quite pickled.

You do get your tour of the labs once you get deep into talking shop - she's got an experiment going in every room, to one degree of abandonment to another. Most of them, obviously, are in the sphere of either fragrance or preservation, or a mixture of the two when something happens to be both foul and valuable - you're not much good on the specifics of preserving an item, obviously, but your understanding of the underlying chemistry and advice on lab equipment seems to be invaluable to the point where Lady Craik occasionally blinks and her persistent hiccup lapses as she takes a note or two in a notepad that looks frilly before you realize it's simply dilapidated, her responses turning from politely interested to genuinely intrigued.

It's been several hours, you think, when you've managed to walk a full circuit of the premises, the entire compound the size of a city block packed with pots of strong-smelling chemicals of all kinds and purities - your fire safety tips for these are nodded at, but the notion of an actual fire starting in the Tell of the Setting Sun seems laughable all on its own. A torch, hic, a torch has trouble staying lit around here for ten seconds, let alone a, hurk, something you can't be bothered to spare twenty matches on!

In any case, you find yourself eventually in the latest experimental area - used to be occupied by a lodger, Lady Craik says, but he turned to, hurk, dust some years ago. Happens if you don't keep yourself in, ghurkhuhuhuh, good spirits. Her knees knock against one another with a hollow thud as she delivers that one.

Anyway, you do check out the latest experiment. It smells as remarkable as you were led to believe - in fact you do believe you were undersold on the notion, you think from the ground as stars swim around your head. And that's when you just wafted it toward your nose with your hand. Quite incredible, hic, innit!

Eventually you manage to get on your feet, and you are led back to Improvised Laboratory No. 19, which has lain unused for quite a long time indeed, and looks to be more of a study these days than a legitimate laboratory. All of the shelves are full of manuscripts from scientists (yes, certainly scientists, Lady Craik would specify) - to be specific, the great chemical minds of the old state of Makala, back when it was still a place of enlightenment!

Will you be checking through these for some kind of formula, you ask. No, Lady Craik says! No. Hahahah! Hurk! No! No, you'll be extracting their scent!

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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2192 on: May 12, 2017, 10:08:17 am »

"I haven't actually thought about that part yet..."

Think about that a bit. The procedure of sharing the mythscape step by step, shape of entire action, crystallized skill, but limited to just this one action. And since Yggdrasil has already rooted into his head it should be easy to share. Or alternatively a drink from Mímisbrunnr? Ooh, or better yet, the crystallized skill mixed with mead of poetry? That ought to do the trick!
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2193 on: May 12, 2017, 07:54:27 pm »

Thomas blinks.  Well, he got plenty of sleep anyway.

No more sleeping thanks.  Make sure the cover is still up.  Probably time to take a turn at watch anyway.
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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.

Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2194 on: May 13, 2017, 12:50:08 am »

((So the acidic juggler won, I take it? It's a little hard to tell.))

"Well, that went well," Daniels remarks as he pulls the haemonculus out of the acid pool. "Or possibly horribly depending on if I pissed the captain off with that, kinda hard to tell. Either way, fantastically done, my juggler friend! Do you wish to choose a name? You've certainly earned the right as an individual."

Save the haemonculus since I'm feeling generous, and have a congratulatory talk with the winner.
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2195 on: May 13, 2017, 08:08:13 am »

((So the acidic juggler won, I take it? It's a little hard to tell.))

The flying juggler did, but in winning it also became acidic by subsuming its opponent.
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2196 on: May 13, 2017, 05:37:26 pm »

((I like it already.))
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2197 on: May 15, 2017, 05:58:29 am »

"I haven't actually thought about that part yet..."

Think about that a bit. The procedure of sharing the mythscape step by step, shape of entire action, crystallized skill, but limited to just this one action. And since Yggdrasil has already rooted into his head it should be easy to share. Or alternatively a drink from Mímisbrunnr? Ooh, or better yet, the crystallized skill mixed with mead of poetry? That ought to do the trick!

[Alchemy of the Mind: 1]

You decide to pack up some minding knowledge into the mead of poetry, just sort of crystallize it, then cut it up and mix the resulting bits together and hold the mixture up over a volcanic vent until the mixture turns nicely golden brown. Enough for two whole revelations, you suspect!

The elder looks fascinated! So you're supposed to be eating this to learn something, are you? Nah, you respond, that's way too slow! The way to absorb this variety of potent knowledge, you would say, is to snort it. Goes straight to the brain that way.

You set up a small table and make a single line each. On three you agree to get into it.

One! The elder grins - this ought to be good.

Two! You have to warn him that this is untested. There may be side effects!

Three! You lean down and do the full line, as does the elder! And that's when things get dicey.

...

You and the elder are wandering down the cavernous hall like pantomime drunks, feeling like there's a severe language barrier between your mind and your limbs. The elder is lapping desperately at a bottle of moonshine, his eyes bulging and red. You look down at your body, which looks like it ought to belong to a space alien, gray and gaunt and strange beyond measure with an unusual amount of fingers in all the wrong places poking at the inside of your robe.

GOTTA MOVE, the elder shouts without moving his lips, GOTTA GO QUICK! HAVE TO BE OUT OF THIS PLACE!

A rising panic fills the caverns. You hear distant bats flapping meaty wings, terrible beasts stirring in the deep, horrors untold nipping at your heels. You pass through a hall where Moths are making preparations in a panic.

GOTTA GET TO ELIZABETH, he continues to scream into your mind as his lips quiver and you hear his voice bounce off the Moths, who start moving quicker, wild-eyed as impulses crash against rising hangovers as the Fear properly sets in. You see a few gods around, running as scared as the rest of them, carrying their worldly possessions with them with worried faces.

YOU, the elder tells you, FIGURE OUT A WAY TO GO FAST! GOTTA OUTRUN THEM!

Thomas blinks.  Well, he got plenty of sleep anyway.

No more sleeping thanks.  Make sure the cover is still up.  Probably time to take a turn at watch anyway.

You crawl out of your bedding and get yourself in order as you start to slink around the pitch-black wine cellar. Both Silver and Gamble are still where you left them. You're not sure why you thought they wouldn't be. The floor is freezing cold and ineffably slick. You don't know where the exit is.

But you do find the hole. The cover is gone, as are the bits you secured it with. It feels wide, man-sized now. Perhaps just another trick of the dark, perhaps not. Feeling the edges, an unnatural charge pricks at your fingers.

Then there is a sudden call from below, a mere whisper but enough to pierce the terrible silence - hallo, it calls! Someone! Anyone! She's fallen in here! Help!

You don't recognize the voice, you don't think.

((So the acidic juggler won, I take it? It's a little hard to tell.))

"Well, that went well," Daniels remarks as he pulls the haemonculus out of the acid pool. "Or possibly horribly depending on if I pissed the captain off with that, kinda hard to tell. Either way, fantastically done, my juggler friend! Do you wish to choose a name? You've certainly earned the right as an individual."

Save the haemonculus since I'm feeling generous, and have a congratulatory talk with the winner.

The homunculus, or rather the manikin, appears deeply grateful when you pull it out, its calves worn down to corroded nubs. As you hold it up in your hands, it bows several times and mimes kissing your wrist, and you need a moment to shake it off and put it on the table. It continues to prostrate itself, its legs not particularly conducive to much else.

The juggler meanwhile is making good headway on clearing the table of the food left uneaten. You confer with it briefly about whether it would like a name, and you sense it consider the notion from several aspects. It's somewhat strange for an ambulatory colony of culinary culture insects to name itself when its main spheres of knowledge are exclusively based around mortal combat and striking a careful balance between mass acquisition and expenditure.

That being said, it clicks thoughtfully, it does have a good feeling about Dan. Will that do?

You notice Two Shores ambling along the side of the table, her steps lacking a certain precision as she appears to still be confused about what just happened. She pauses to check on Peaks, who luckily appears to be quite all right. Then she looks to you, silently wondering what you might possibly have to say for yourself.

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« Last Edit: May 15, 2017, 06:07:35 am by Harry Baldman »
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Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2198 on: May 15, 2017, 10:30:44 am »

Thomas frowns, then kicks Silver and Gamble awake.  "Wake up; she fell in.  We need to find some rope to get her out.  Do we have any light?"

Wake up the other two.  Acquire rope and light.
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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: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2199 on: May 15, 2017, 11:01:11 am »

Whoops.

Fastest way is to fall but only direction we can fall here is sideways and that will not work for most of the people and down isn't the way to go.

Who's them?

What the hell happened to my body?

Outrun? By becoming faster than them? By making them slower than us? By preventing them reaching us?

What happened?

I think... being faster is good. Inevitable seems dangerous. Apocalypse is very dangerous underground. Drink... there isn't anything to drink. Minding seems like the only answer, but... hmm. Maybe using mind sight to scout far ahead and subtly sending information about optimal route? Or perhaps I can DRINK stone to generate straight path? Hopefully my odd physiology makes it possible to drink few million times my own volume. If not, then the plan is to scout and direct.
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Re: Our Salvation: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2200 on: May 17, 2017, 06:12:20 am »

"Oh?"

My turn to be intrigued.
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2201 on: May 17, 2017, 02:45:16 pm »

((I keep on thinking I've posted when I've not. My apologies.))

"I'm rather flattered by the similarity to my own name, Dan. It's a good name, that it is."

Daniels turns to look at Shores.

"Oh hey! So what did you think of the fight?"
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penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2202 on: May 18, 2017, 06:45:05 pm »

I thank the stoat for his hospitality and climb the tower to check out the surroundings. Might as well appreciate the view. And try to sell this sightseer shtick.
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2203 on: May 19, 2017, 10:35:30 am »

Thomas frowns, then kicks Silver and Gamble awake.  "Wake up; she fell in.  We need to find some rope to get her out.  Do we have any light?"

Wake up the other two.  Acquire rope and light.

It takes you a fair amount of time to locate Silver in the dark, and even longer to shake him awake - the atmosphere here is like swimming in tar. There is a small commotion as everyone gets their bearings - oh my, she fell in! Who fell in? Where's the rope, where's the light? And why is it so dark in here?

[A Flame To Guide The Way: 4]

A small flame comes up from a torch Silver manages to light, not quite enough to light up this room to a significant degree, but shedding enough warmth and light to grant you a measure of resolve when you behold the hole in the ground again. You get the sense it's the sort of dark that's never seen a flame in its existence, but is very intrigued about what it might taste like.

[Insured For Haunting: 3+1]

Gamble meanwhile has procured a rope, and offers to go down with you while Silver rather gladly stays back to hold the rope. They'll have her out in no time, Gamble says as he begins to climb down. Blimey, he says, even with the torch you can't see a damn thing down here!

Whoops.

Fastest way is to fall but only direction we can fall here is sideways and that will not work for most of the people and down isn't the way to go.

Who's them?

What the hell happened to my body?

Outrun? By becoming faster than them? By making them slower than us? By preventing them reaching us?

What happened?

I think... being faster is good. Inevitable seems dangerous. Apocalypse is very dangerous underground. Drink... there isn't anything to drink. Minding seems like the only answer, but... hmm. Maybe using mind sight to scout far ahead and subtly sending information about optimal route? Or perhaps I can DRINK stone to generate straight path? Hopefully my odd physiology makes it possible to drink few million times my own volume. If not, then the plan is to scout and direct.

You point at a patch of wall and shout

DRINK

[Word: 1]

A sampling of ancient granite flies into your hand - you sink your teeth into it and suck at its minerals for a moment. They say nothing can match the things a stone has seen! And they're right, you discover as its dreams flood into you, recalling a world before there was life and light as you know it, a world of lightning and quakes and terrible upheaval, ruled by forms of life so violently incompatible with the world of today that their forms burst into screams in your mind.

Aaaaargh, you begin to scream.

AAAAARGH, the elder shrieks, flapping his arms as you inadvertently engage his flight response. The Moths all abruptly jump at the sudden provocation and begin to run like frightened animals, all in the same direction. You feel an inexorable pull as a long-buried herd instinct takes hold and you dive into the wave of fleeing clanfolk, swimming through the mob for dear life.

You're not sure how long you run. Could be minutes, could be hours, could be decades - the screaming takes a little too much of your attention. But the elder seems to have fallen over abruptly and now lies on his back, breathing heavily at the ceiling as he fishes hallucinogenic apples out of his robe and shoves them into his mouth hand over fist.

A sudden roar comes from the tunnel up ahead. THERE THEY ARE, the elder screams into the heads of all those gathered. You think you see a confused Lee briefly among the heads of the assembled Moth Clan, but at this point it's honestly hard to say anything for sure.

DON'T TAKE ANY GUFF FROM THESE SWINE, the elder continues to scream at the tunnel up ahead, SHOW THEM THE BUSINESS. He grabs a knife and throws it to you - you swerve and twitch as your entire body's fingers twitch to catch it and narrowly manage to keep it in your hands, NOW GO!

It's a very good pigsticker, you find. Nice enough that you can't help but pause to admire it. Would be a bit of a shame to stain it with somebody's blood, you have to say.

"Oh?"

My turn to be intrigued.

She hasn't needed these books in a good long time, Lady Craik says as she extends a delicate, creaking hand toward you. May she invite you for a splendid round of extraction?

[Breath of the East: 2+1, 1+1]

First you gather the books, and then you get the glassware, set a small flame at first! Then you start rendering down the books, and this is, hic, very important, you make sure to get the drier bits out first... and then you stir gently! These treatises are, hurk, well, they're pretty sensitive, so you want to be- no, no! Stop! Put that, hic, put that thing down this instant, let her take over, yes, there's the ticket!

...

Yes, now pick up the thing from that shelf and- no, not that one, hurk, honestly it's like you've never been in this lab before! Let her get that, hic, yes. Oh, and hand her the- actually, never mind, she'll grab that on her own.

...

-aaand, hurk, and there you go. She supposes.

Lady Craik wafts a little bit of the scent from the final barrel in her direction. It's a fairly subtle, woody aroma of charred paper, with a gentle hint of unidentifiable medicine. It's all right, she supposes. Probably good enough. And she had, hic, such a good feeling too, she says as she cracks each one of her knuckles and phalanges in sequence.

Anyway, hic, take it. She doesn't want to see it around anymore, it doesn't do to remind oneself of failure. That's how you get, hic, done in - that and germs, oh yes. Germs'll get you like nobody's business.

((I keep on thinking I've posted when I've not. My apologies.))

"I'm rather flattered by the similarity to my own name, Dan. It's a good name, that it is."

Daniels turns to look at Shores.

"Oh hey! So what did you think of the fight?"

She shrugs - a technically competent fight, but all too short and to the point, as real meetings between destructive forces tend to be. Perhaps consider limiting the collateral damage in the future, good sir. And tell the insects to take it less seriously - actual fights seldom make for compelling viewing in her experience, there is a reason we ritualize these things as much as possible.

Shores looks back at the door she left behind - she would advise you be careful with upstaging the captain in such a fashion in the future. It does not do to interfere in the spectacle of nobility. At least not for a crew of derelicts and rejects such as this one, if you'll pardon her saying so.

I thank the stoat for his hospitality and climb the tower to check out the surroundings. Might as well appreciate the view. And try to sell this sightseer shtick.

The tower is fairly tall and lets you take in the area in their entirety - from the tower you see the surrounding clearing, which from above looks like a bumpy, veiny scar on the woodlands, the razing of the environs stopping just short of salting the earth. The woods are quiet, and landmarks are precious and few, mostly in the form of unusual-looking trees and small breaks in the canopy that indicate distant creeks.

[Check Out This Amazing View: 5]

The doctor clambers up right after you, followed by Oggie. A few minutes pass, and she asks what it is you're looking at exactly.

Over there, you point at a dead tree perhaps half a mile off. The doctor squints - yes, she sees that. What's interesting about it? Wait for it, you tell her and go still.

She does as told, and blinks for a second - is that tree breathing? How fascinating!

Sighing, you correct, that is definitely a tree sighing discontently every now and then.

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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: We Can't Stop Here
« Reply #2204 on: May 19, 2017, 05:02:09 pm »

"Very true, but circumstances arose in such a way that I couldn't make it anything less. Making a juggler is quite an involved process, as I've found out. But I do understand the lack of conduct that may have implied - please convey my apologies to the captain if you have the chance. I don't intend to upstage him again in the future."

Daniels awkwardly scratches the back of his neck during this apology.

"Nevertheless, it's over and done with, and now I have a new friend! Would you like to meet Dan?"

Introduce my new insectoid flying acidic horsemeat juggernaut friend to my ludicrously elegant sword-wielding good at fighting friend.
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