Sorry this came a bit late. A rainstorm last night knocked out my satellite connection right as I was preparing this for posting. It did give me time to flesh it out a bit more, though.
Long ago, at the time when you were first sealed, you remember hearing a certain sound. Even after you were bound in a tight, obsidian 'coffin', hewn from the dried blood of a volcano by those who believed that Armok, God of Blood should best serve as caretaker of such bloodletting tools, the unnerving vibrations of metal striking stone reached your form. Tink. Tink. Tink.
You knew that your current cage was made from rock -- or more precisely, volcanic glass -- hewn, broken, and shaped in the same way. Tink. Tink. Tink. You know this not because you learned it from Uravdonul School of Stonework. You know because Bomrek Belalkilrud, the she-dwarf who made the vault and the hole to put it in, learned it from there. You know the feel, shape, tensile strength, and edge thickness of the 'stone' encasing you perfectly; or, at least, as perfect as she once knew. Those precious thoughts were poured unto your living frame, eyeless and faceless; your telepathic nature the only thing allowing you to even know what your own prison looks like from the outside, let alone anything about the world beyond. It is all courtesy of your ability to essentially see through the eyes of those who so much as handle you. A pity you didn't come quite close enough to let you taste her blood; you would have learned so much more.
That same sound reaches you now. Tink. Tink. Tink. It has been getting progressively louder, and sharper, as vibrations travel through the hard surfaces all around you. Just from how earnest and longwinded the digging has been so far, you can infer that you are under far deeper rock now than you were when you were first buried. Digging through the scattered memories you still have of Bomrek's knowledge, your guess is that's either because layers of sediment built up over your resting place, or the liquid rock from a volcano pooled atop you. In any case, it doesn't seem to be deterring whoever is up there working their way down.
Some hours pass in silence, broken frequently by the constant hammering of picks. A few heavier vibrations do reach you; likely large rocks being moved aside. It's hard to really tell what direction they are digging. Only that they're getting closer.
Finally, the sounds of mining do begin to taper off. A new, irregular vibration makes its way down into your prison; voices. Physical ones. How quaint. It solidly confirms what you've long suspected -- these are living, flesh-and-blood beings. Not that you know what else they could be, unless your master saw fit to send a spiritually-alive pick or six to rescue you. Unfortunately, whatever they are saying is impossible to make out from here.
But you don't need to understand their speech to know that they are preparing to rest for the day. Their thoughts are becoming looser, less focused on work and thus easier to read; their collective consciousness ebbing downward towards daydreaming. Towards you, in a very real sense. Even from inside your black coffin, you can sense six different personalities, roughly matching the cadence of tinks you've been hearing for the past several hours.
How do you proceed?
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Topic: Sapient Item (SG) (Read 2892 times)