In the kitchen of the Feisty Jelly...Niklas looks for all sorts of liquids he can find that he could possibly use to decrease the consciousness level of this particular drunkard.
Fortunately, there is plenty of water around. And milk, too, for some reason. He begins pouring it into the drunkard's mouth in great amounts.
The drunkard drinks a whole lot of it, then vomits profusely. He looks better already! Niklas also supposes one could get extremely inebriated from the fumes the guy's vomit produces if they felt like sniffing the stuff, but that's not really the objective here, is it?
On the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...Kevin, disappointed and somewhat pissed right now, walks up to the Artiste and points to his lack of arms.
"Ah, you appear to have no arms, jester-friend! Hang on, I'll call for Erin. Erin!"Erin looks at the Artiste.
"Yeah?""My friend here requires urgent assistance! He appears to have been fractured to bits!""I'm on a break! Can't this wait? Ya shouldn't overuse magic, ya know. How about in half an hour? I'm a bit hungry right now.""Ooh, now that you mention it, I'm slightly hungry as well. What say you we go and have dinner?""Yeah, sure.""To the den, then! Everybody capable of digestion, come with me!""Dinner sounds good.""Yeah, let's eat!"The three mages and the Artiste head downstairs to the den. Damn it. Kevin looks around. What is
Mark doing over there? Something troubling, he bets.
[Mark "medicine" roll: 4+1]
Kevin is a bit surprised when he sees Mark show a perfectly serviceable, evidently cleaned pair of skeletal arms that show very little abnormality whatsoever in addition to a rather nicely-done shoulder line, then walk up and nonchalantly attach them to his fractured body after removing some of the less structurally-sound bones.
Mark gets the feeling that this is a bit of a half-measure, though - Kevin's entire body is covered in fractures. He'll need more than just an arm replacement to work as efficiently as before. But hey, at least he's not armless anymore! Lacking a ribcage, sure, but at least not armless!
At an unusually hateful tree...Sigmund, in a fit of practicality and generosity, drops his guisarme on the ground for
Morton to grab and possibly utilize.
"Chop the damned branch!"Morton staggers to his feet, then goes about chopping while feebly issuing a
"Tally ho!"[Chopping roll: 2]
Midway through, he realizes two things. Firstly, a guisarme isn't exactly a chopping weapon. It's a spear plus a hook - hardly the best thing to cut branches with, pruning hook ancestry of the weapon be damned. Also, there's a whole lot of branches wrapping around Sigmund.
Speaking of Sigmund, the vampire notices that he isn't likely to be helped by Morton presently and so just tries to slip out of the tree's grasp.
[Escape artistry roll: 1]
He expertly breaks his pelvis to escape! Well, except he doesn't escape. He does have a broken pelvis now, though! That's a start if half of what he's heard about being an escape artist is correct!
Still, maybe he should try something else. Sigmund hates a lot of stuff (or at the very least dislikes it in a civilized fashion), like Mark, for instance! Maybe he can hate the tree right back!
[Hate-off: Sigmund vs. Tree of Hatred: 3 vs. 1+
2]
Even though the tree isn't targeting
him specifically right now, the tree does seem to be more than capable of matching the amateur levels of hatred Sigmund can muster. Maybe competing with something in quite possibly the only domain it has truly mastered isn't the best idea.
However, the tree does seem to have started to pay attention to him again. Sigmund feels awfully cold and heavy suddenly, while Morton feels a tad better. In addition, the area that the tree has grabbed him by, roughly correlating with his waist and abdomen, is beginning to hurt in a most un-vampiric fashion.
In the streets of Shriekpot...Scott, unhappy about the results of his experiment, downs the jarful of sludge. It is exactly as good as he imagined it.
With that done, he looks for a place that may have pitch in a reasonable quantity.
He supposes a warehouse might have it somewhere. Or a shipyard. But he doesn't know of any shipyards in town, at least none that have pitch in plain view and all. Or drydocks, either.
Damn, it would certainly have paid off to go into town more during his lifetime. Maybe then he wouldn't be as lost trying to find stuff as he obviously is.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Chapter 5: The Path of Dreams (Read 39370 times)