At the amputation room of the guard HQ in Shriekpot...
Sigmund tries his best to convince the guards to give his arm back.
"Well, it certainly makes you feel out of balance, I have to say. Considering how difficult it was to remove it, may I examine it? Ideally, I would like to take it, considering that we mutants don't know much about our own anatomy, and that arm would certainly help me to understand my own physiology."
He reaches for the arm, but the butcher man draws it back.
"Not giving it back, buddy. Not by a long shot."
"After all, you might put it back on. And that would defeat the point, wouldn't it?"
Sigmund's expression sours a little as his arm is pulled out of immediate reach.
"There was a device within my possessions that was actually borrowed. Is there any chance to get it back so that I can give it to its legitimate owner?"
"Oh, I'm sure you've borrowed a great many things. If somebody wants them back, feel free to tell them to come over here and get them."
Just at that moment, a guard steps inside the room and whispers something to Carlson. Carlson nods, then turns to Sigmund.
"I have some business to take care of, buddy, so you wait here a little bit, I'll be right back."
He then exits, leaving Sigmund in the room with the other guards. The amputation guy appears to be eying him curiously.
"So, are you a construct? Or simply altered in some fashion? This arm of yours is... unusual. Most exquisite."
He whispers something to one of the guards, who leaves for a minute, then comes back.
On the deck of a strange ship...
Morton is a tad confused by the captain. Such unfortunately cryptic thought patterns, really.
~As close as you can get, 'sadly'? I'm afraid I don't quite understand, are you perhaps far away from this locale or otherwise incapable? Do you require assistance of some kind, or perhaps require help?~
~Oh, no. Certainly not. I'm perfectly content how I am, actually.~
~I did not mean to relay that talking in such a way was off putting for myself, simply that it is something new. I've surely dealt with stranger than holding a conversation in my head with another, it's simply an activity I don't do quite frequently is all. If I remember correct I believe I actually spoke out loud last time, a touch embarrassing I suppose looking back. It's a shame people don't take the chance to travel with you, you seem like an interesting fellow to converse with, that much I can glean from our conversations.~
~Even if you do not find it strange, many others do. Most of my business associates are quite wary of someone accessing their innermost thoughts, even though I typically do not do such a thing out of respect for one's privacy, as strange, primal and animalistic as it may be. But I digress. Your associate here is quite interesting. Educated, too. Did you go through the same process as she did? She thinks of fabulous dimensions and demons dwelling within them - rather interesting if I may express so myself.~
At the Brotherhood of Fine Furniture and Other Odds and Ends...
Niklas tries to reach a compromise.
"Well, I only possess 4 gold. What if I went and got 1 gold and three silver, then came back here - I could get the chairs then, could I not? Also, remind me in case I'm not remembering correctly, a regular chair is one silver, is it not?"
"You can certainly pay us the four gold to place the order, then come back to receive the finished product when you have the rest. Should you not do so within a day, we will render the chairs down to their raw components again. And the price of a regular chair is actually one gold, with variations based on required materials."
At the engineers' gate of the City of the Dead...
Darren just converses on with the gibbon, hoping to wring some usefulness out of it.
"Could you explain it to me?"
The gibbon nods.
In a shallow grave...
Kevin, hoping to get some sort of help from the divines now that the earthly powers have failed him, attempts to pray his way to safety. He prays intensely to every god he can think of (well, there are only five, so it doesn't take very long). He feels he's got a good thing going here, really. He even sounds kind of sincere, at least to himself.
A bit of time passes, and Kevin almost gets the idea that he hasn't been heard, but then he feels the earth move above him - this feeling continues until he is successfully exhumed - oddly enough, by the same people, it seems. This time, their grumbling seems louder.
"Wish they'd make up their minds already, digging pits is hard work!"
"Yeah, I never asked for this."
They pull Kevin out of the grave in due time.
"Should we fill it up?"
"Nah, we'll prolly need it later, anyway."
As the guards decide this, they begin dragging Kevin along once more.
In the main lobby of the guard HQ of Shriekpot...
Scott, realizing that now might be his chance, decides to go all out. Oh yes, it is time for a most incredibly unreliable narration.
"Yes, so...It was that damned lanky armed bastard. I shouldn't have believed him, he claimed to have been given orders by our new master, the Artiste. Said he wanted a book and that he was given special permission to get it by any means. When I initially refused, he claimed the book had already been paid for, but had been withheld after the bookseller learned of its real value and thus it was the masters rightful property. He said my personal mission was to delay the seller and any guards by any means necessary whilst he got the book and ran back to the master. Having already failed my master once..." he trails off, recalling the way he felt when he accidentally murdered Bernie, altering his already unpleasant one-eyed expression accordingly. The receptionist seems unmoved, but he also seems to be busily taking notes, so he supposes it's working.
"... I... I wasn't going to risk it again. I admit I have lied to this point....but I couldn't risk stating all this in front of lanky... he... he had plans for an eventuality where he was imprisoned that doesn't bear contemplation. The master is used to our schemes and punishes us accordingly... however... lanky... lanky is vicious. It's hard to keep your sanity when all you have is an accursed bond to an individual you don't like and a certain ethereal future of terror and woe. See how willing he was to lose a limb? If you noticed...they weren't his to begin with, and despite our physiology...the nature of our enchantment 'allows' us to feel pain. You see this?" he asks, pointing at his chin. "It's his work. He came to the gang one day and said the Artiste had been scammed out of his money for a ticket for a ship. He said he had scouted out the city and found the scammers in a tavern in the trade district. He... he ordered us to help him kill everyone he found in the place... in the name of our master. I had initially objected, saying that innocents would only turn the city against our master.. but the look in his dead eyes quietened me."
"Fortunately, later that night, when we stormed blades raised high... we were met by a company of armed men, presumably city guards. Whilst we felled several of them, and captured the proprietress of the establishment... the rest of the tavern had time to flee. Lanky was not happy. He turned to me and screamed that I was a traitor, that I had alerted the city guards. He... hacked at my face several times with his sword... missing every few slashes. But he succeeded in separating me from my jaw. He then, after questioning her, killed the proprietress out right and lopped off her jaw. He said 'A perfect present for you, Scott... for you and all that women's talk,'..." he concludes his chilling testimony. A few seconds later, the receptionist finishes writing, then checks his work. Looking at the paper, Scott notices that it's filled with really weird-looking squiggles. The receptionist glances at him, then at a particular guard.
"Get Carlson."
The guard walks off, and it is not long until Carlson arrives.
"What's up?"
The receptionist hands him the page... no, wait, several written pages. Carlson looks through them interestedly.
"Ooh, very interesting indeed! The plot thickens, so to speak. Right then, time to get down to the real business at hand."
He looks at Scott.
"You've certainly changed your tune quite a bit. I guess you know what that means, right?"
Scott looks at him silently.
"Investigation time!" Carlson says, grinning wildly. "Now, about this Artiste - who is he? Where is he? How can we find him?"
In Undefined Space...
Timothy clarifies that he is, indeed, quite stuck.
"Nah, I is stuck here for sure. Dem voices says they's send me home, but not do nothin'. Guess I stays here."
"Voices do little. They guide path to get out, but not needed to get out. Can always leave, yes."
Timothy tries to manipulate the remainder of his own blocks, but finds that the geometric ripples are a tad hostile to him. Probably best not to bother them right now.
"You have soul. You from far away. I see soul also chained, yes? You want out, but you die if you do. Want help?"
Right at that moment, another presence drifts over, a shining, spinning face of curious composition.
"Ooh, soul-man-thing in the fun-place! I knew I heard soul-man-things in middle-corner! Yes! What's shaking, soul-man-thing? Nice landscape-thing!"
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 540911 times)