"Okay... once more and you should be good."
Talking to rats barely registered on Thomas's absurdity index at this point.
Finish the job.
[The Node: 5]
With the slightest of tugs you give the tail node the final bit of force required to completely destabilize it. Your reward is, unsurprisingly, more rat tails - a multitude of them exploding over you like twitching, hairy spaghetti before sliding to the floor, some seemingly serving as ends to the three rats' tails, but most of them apparently wholly autonomous as they drag themselves every which way like slightly fuzzy earthworms.
The rats appear satisfied at this conclusion after a fashion, and seemingly let the sudden wealth of spare tails be as they make their hurried escapes. They're altogether much more interested in a hushed discussion that you are sadly not privy to as they huddle up and squeak at each other in conspiratorial tones, looking your way every now and then. A minute passes as you continue to stare bewildered at the escaping tails.
They seem to come to a conclusion of sorts, and crawl up your body to sit on your shoulders, their seven foot tails winding around your torso several times as they look at their surroundings. They appear to be watching out for something quite specific, but choose to remain silent on what that might be.
After concluding his conversation of uncertain length with his fellow wellspawn, Daniels turns to Peaks and Shores. "So, first things first. Two Shores, are you okay? You seem ... out of sorts, if you don't mind me saying so."
Show concern for the wellbeing of another person - a novel thing for Daniels so far.
[The Final Approach: 4]
She is fine and very much enjoying the change in climate that the westward travel brings, Shores explains. This evening the Vault of Heavens will reach the Sky Rig, and hopefully within the week the return home will be concluded, which should all prove to be a simple enough process after business with the customs authority is concluded.
Customs do tend to be simultaneously troubling and soul-numbingly boring affairs, Peaks says in a mildly serious way, tapping her nose knowingly.
But also unfortunately time-consuming, Shores adds mechanically. The captain has mentioned to her that some discrepancies will need to be addressed and the books brought back to order in the next 24 hours, which will unfortunately mean she is unable to train you today.
Funny how key parts of some documentation turn out to be missing in the eleventh hour and then need to be painstakingly rewritten, Peaks says and rolls her eyes.
Shores does raise an eyebrow, but hesitates to say more than that the captain seems to have misplaced a particular report, yes. Things have a way of happening at the worst possible times, she is sure you will agree. Perhaps you will be able to finish up at the Sky Rig, she says in the kind of hopeful tone that makes it clear enough that there is likely no chance of this ever happening.
"... A kind offer. I'm not sure it's right to leave everyone else like this though, when I could literally fix them with a glance."
Express moral issues with the recommended course of action.
[Here In The Museum: 4]
Cindy looks at the other girls irritably. Have to say, that wasn't the part of the plan she thought you'd object against - fair cop, she says, suppose it
is a bit inhumane to just leave them like that. Most of them, anyway. Don't revive that one over there, Cindy points out a smaller, younger-looking girl in especially revealing dress off in the corner whose brow slowly furrows in shocked incredulity over the following minute or so, she's an incorrigible snitch and you can tell the dang madame that she said so, too. The rest are mostly all right, although she stands by her previous criticism of their particular hygiene and distressing habits.
She takes one more look around the whole room. Go ahead and revive the rest, she says, and she'll go and rob the place blind in the meantime, and then you'll all be collectively out before the owner can say "workers' rights", not that the stingy bitch ever would.
Well this won't work at all.
I follow the sounds of partying to find somewhere else to stay. Preferably somewhere we can have a few drinks and with the celebrating stoats before going to bed. Gotta drink to my accomplishments, I guess, and it has been a little while since I've cut loose.
[Find The Rhythm: 3]
There are colors on the streets of Speaker's Bridge as the stoatfolk have headed out to celebrate with heavy amounts of drink, dance and stoat music. A lot of stoat music, which appears to involve a lot of washboards, jugs, pots, empty boxes and actually quite impeccable singing. You look for another inn to stay at in the rising bustle after finding several that appear so packed that you can't even elbow your way in for all the stoats that have gone inside, crawling over one another in places as required. Eventually as you veer toward the edges of town you find a very nice-looking townhouse - unlike most of its neighbors it looks to have remained quite well-kept, and outside it there is a sign indicating that it may well be some kind of bed & breakfast.
The sign proves to be helpful indeed, as you would never have been able to tell from the proprietor, a deeply surly-looking woman in her mid-nineties at the very least, ancient by any sensible measure and, from the looks of it, living completely alone in this dusty house apart from her full rainbow of two dozen cats, each of them harboring its own particular brand of suspicion for you, the doctor or Oggie.
Three rules, the lady tells you. First off, pay up in advance, two gold pieces for a room. Secondly, don't make any bloody noise in the night or you'll be out on your ear within the hour. And thirdly, don't go poking around the basement.
((I did a quick search on the forums, just to get enough info on Xan's murder-thought to realistically react to it, and from what I've gathered his is some kind of indescribable thing that would freak the hell out of someone still operating under Earth logic, right?))
Attempting to maintain his composure (not to mention his lunch), Rindle weakly replies, "Well... that, uh, that certainly is, uh, neat. Isn't that nifty. Good to meet you, Mr. Daniels."
Edit: Having concluded his distressing, but enlightening conversation with Daniels, Rindle finds himself a nice corner that break down in for a bit.
You definitely get a very good look at the murder-thought as you go. There's not a lot to see apart from how it scratches along the deck, leaving shining marks in the bronze plating. Much of it is instead very keenly felt, a dimensionless and unimaginably dangerous sharpness in the air that makes you feel as if you were gently hugging a razor-sharp sword, and really makes you appreciate the charm of being literally anywhere else.
Leaving the three others behind you look around the deck and find a severe paucity of likely corners, and thus are left with no choice but to push past the throng of sailing folk into the lower decks, which seem altogether less occupied. You sit down between a barrel of apples (wax, you discover) and a thing covered very securely with a tarp, and have a moment to yourself to panic. It's good to leave some space in your day for a mental breakdown, you think as the terrible despair of everything you have ever known in your life - friends, family, accomplishments, all the little things you'd collected over the years and the little bits of human kindness and warmth you've ever experienced - all of this gone, possibly forever.
[Needing Space: 6]
You become aware of a shadow looming over you. When you look up you notice, among other things, slavering fangs, jointed wings, horrid empty compound eyes that stare out emotionlessly, the gentle smoking of the bronze floor as its segmented chitinous frame exudes protective toxins and caustics. It'd be massive if fully unfolded, you suppose, but appears to be able to squeeze down to as little as seven feet tall as it taps your shoulder with a claw that stops just short of drawing blood under your robe. Broadly speaking, it looks like it's come into town to shop for live human hosts to lay its eggs into.
There there, it clicks as its antennae wiggle rhythmically, the claw tapping sharply on your collarbone. There there.
Eileen Minett, Monster Hunter
- Monster hunter's silver badge
- Monster hunting license
- Distilled alcohol (in flask, partially depleted)
- Spirits of salt (in clay jar, partially depleted)
- Soaps of elk, bear, bat and snake
- 3 flasks of lamp oil
- Oil lamp (unlit)
- Linen stoat shirt (worn, plasma-scorched)
- Stoat trousers (worn)
- Comfy slippers (worn)
- 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
- A Weapon: Nightmare Blade
- Grenade Jumping: A Solid Technique
- The Good Doctor: Last of a Long Line
- 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: Monster Monster Hunter
- Our Old Bridge Is Falling Down: Hero of the City
- She Who Fights Monsters: The Ghoul Vanquished
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Linda the peg-legged manikin (lively, disappointed)
- 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
- 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: Unfortunate Business
- Process of Elimination: Pounds of Flesh
- The Night Sky: How Very, Very Quaint
- Fires, Pines & Day, Minions At Law: Dipper and Dan Double Duty
- They Call Me Doctor: Opportunistic Orderly
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- A Word: ABSENCE
- A Word: GOODBYE
- A Word: WORM
- A Weapon: The Sword They Fear
- Insurance contracts, signed in triplicate: 12
- 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
- The Voracious Dark: The Place of Lost Souls
- The Voracious Dark: Testing Run
- Proof of Concept: An Interesting Student
- Clans of the Northern Wilderness: A Distraction
- The Living City: A Guest In Elizabeth
- His Educated Rodents: Rat-Bearer
- Body Count: 12
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- Wounds: 2
- A Word: REVELATION
- A Word: THANKS
- The Wicked King's Missive On Economic Reform (in massive silver scroll case)
- Traces of Mischief: Glowing Facial Rift
- The Serpent's Egg: Dissemination
- Body Count: 4
- Cornerstone Helm (worn, out of light, collecting)
- Bottle of aspirin
- Time-ender's measure (wrapped, processing? stopping?)
- 10 m of rope
- Half a candle
- 1 rat, skinless and smoked
- 4 gp
- Lock of Hair (unidentified)
- Iron nail, unused
- An Inauspicious Key
- Moth-Eaten Hat (worn)
- Old Brown Waistcoat (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: Makala's Old Glory
- 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: Copper Springs from Old Bobbleparts
- Wizzards Bargins: A Roll of Your Finest Sticky Tape
- Wizzards Bargins: Styli of Ancient Plumbago
- In High Spirits: But Not Very Useful In The Lab
- Traces of Mischief: Missing Finger
- Wall-Breaker: A Generous Tab
- No Rest For The Wicked: New Lease On Unlife
Rindle Fischgartner, Evolutionary Biologist
- High quality gilded paisley bathrobe and matching slippers (worn)
- The New Flesh: The Best Kind of Accident
Author
Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 262554 times)