"You're making the ill-advised assumption that I'm not an extradimensional probe into this realm with no prior knowledge of the metaphysics of where I am or anything outside of Anglefork. You're going to walk with me as I go to find Wilde, and you're going to explain what unintegrated, Imaginary, Order, and now that I think of it, a basic summary of what the world looks and behaves like are."
I may have no bones, but I still have uncoupled strength. This lady's coming with me as I head ... south, she said? South. To Anglefork town.
There's really no need to manhandle the poor woman, she's more than eager to follow a naked boneless man down the road to inevitable disaster while explaining the history of the world, as this seems to be the exact situation her unique education has prepared her to do. Eager listeners seem to be at a premium in these parts.
But where to begin, the historian considers. Where indeed! The world, as it seems you are quite interested in that - relatively little of it is known to those in the north, you understand. Benzerwald hugs the Corner of the World, where the two planes of the physical world meet at a right angle - some believe it leads to the next world, although very few have managed to master the secrets of gravity to be able to scale the seemingly infinite wall of earth there. Up from the corner, it is believed, live the time-enders, and of them few rigorous reports exist, and those that do are invariably from a far too long distance (more than a few purely telescopic in nature), and even then incoherent at times - they move like stars on the horizon, and are said by fools to portend acts of great destruction, though very little evidence exists of this that hasn't probably been very thoroughly destroyed after being prophesied. Thus it's hard to say how predictive any such observations really are. Rather frustrating to encounter a force that actively resists any attempt at being deciphered - causal cryptography is a confusing science at the best of times. Would you know yet more?
You would, but step back on the esotery, you warn. Very well - where you are, she expounds, is a several hundred mile band of lands near the Great Ocean, where the splintered state of Benzerwald stands, broken by the stoatmen at the beginning of what she likes to term the Splintered period, the beginning of which she likes to place roughly eleven months ago during the great stoat ghetto riots when the tensions of the splintering of the blood came to a rather catastrophic head. Since no other historian has opposed such classification (presumably because stoatmen take a dim and overly sharp view of academic examination of their practices), you can safely assume an academic consensus on the subject for now. In any case, Benzerwald - flanked on the east by the Kingdom of the Dead, where the Wicked King, a long-time Benzerwald ally, holds court over his subject corpses, and on the west by the Wondrous Land of El, legendary home of the science of alchemy, and on the south bordering the free ports, though what exactly has become of them she hasn't quite had any news about. Would you know yet more?
Of course you would know yet- hey, there's the people you were looking for - Mr. Wilde, the blacksmith, and also Mr. Minstep, all commiserating after a less than inspiring brush with drowning on the blacksmith and Mr. Wilde's part. Oh, says the lady, you were looking for the blacksmith? You really should be more specific about these things, she says.
Goddamn it I hope that fisher lady learns to never send strangers through weird holes.
I turn around and attempt to progress in roughly the opposite direction than the one I've been going. As best as I can estimate that.
[Where Am I: 1]
In here, direction does not exist. And neither does purpose. Your desire makes less sense the more you think about it, your thoughts beginning to evaporate as the pressure of reality slackens on your very being and you walk. You do make progress - but not in any conventional direction. Many words come to you, and then are lost - depth seems to be the only one that makes even a little sense. You have found yourself at the very bottom of the curve, inert and deteriorating, impossibly tall slopes of energy on all sides from where you stand.
[Who Am I: 1]
And somewhere along the way you seem to have shed a great part of yourself as you've traversed the slope down, your self having bloomed and shed its petals in your wake, leaving but a naked core, a mere nigh-motionless nucleus where once a woman was, reduced to charge, mass and motion from a more complex set of feelings.
You feel strangely compelled to rest, trapped as you are. A sense of impossibility pervades any thoughts of escape.
Well, slide the rainbow bridge back out, add some more fuel into fire and figure out better position to pass out.
I wonder if I can bring my figments of imagination gods outside with me.
You shift back into the world of relative reality, and add some twigs to the fire as you poke it. The flame growls as you stir it, but seems ultimately thankful for the provision of more matter to annihilate for warmth and light. That done, you sit down by the tree and let your leg regain sensation as you contemplate the possibility of dragging some gods out into the world. No reason you shouldn't be able to, you suppose, although they're probably a little more complex to bring out than, say, an alcoholic grapefruit.
[Shadows In The Moonlight: 5]
Having come into your body in earnest, you do notice something more. Shadows all around, moving quietly around the tree. You look a little deeper, and see the unmistakable shape of what seems to be a teepee. Quite a few of them, in fact, arranged in a circle a respectable distance away from the tree, the shadows moving in a circle around the area, a few of them turning their heads toward you as you sit there. Noticing you, one such shadow waves quietly, yet affably.
"I'm fine, thank you. Nately?
How are you doing, by the way? It looked like quite a fall you took there."
Phlargh, says Nately with a prodigious stream of water coming out of his mouth as he evacuates his lungs as swiftly as he is able. He seems waterlogged, but ambulatory, and you figure that's probably good enough.
Rather more worryingly, however, Mr. Daniels turns up shortly after the question is asked, trailed by a woman wearing a bedsheet explaining him the finer points of local and world history.
"What, me? Oh, I think I am okay. It hurt a bit but it must have just been a light bruise; I'm fine now. Mr. Nately?"
Check on the health of the blacksmith.
He seems partly drowned, and seems to be trying very hard to not go the rest of the way now that he's clear of the water. Rather understandably he can't offer much in the way of a report beyond hacking and disgorging water wildly, so you pat him on the back gently and assure him it'll be all right, which seems about the best you can do for him presently without a concrete commitment to invading his personal space.
As you contemplate this, a rather put out Mr. Daniels accompanied by the good doctor (who seems to be providing another of her nonsensical lectures) turn up. Mr. Daniels gives poor Nately a look you can't help but read ill intentions into for some reason.
Leif Erikson, Miner
- A Word: INEVITABLE
- A Word: APOCALYPSE
- Body Count: 228
- Mead of Poetry (5 shining revelations remaining)
- Enders' Friend: The Grave of Red Clouds Parting
- Reappropriated, Clean Skirt
- Inscribed Wooden Stylus
- Iron spear
- 1.03 gp
- The Box: ?
- Induced Lucidity: the Aftermath, or the New Beginning
- Compatibility: Minding
- Tricks of the Mind: Perception, Memory
- Tricks of the Mind: Engagement, Negation, Abstraction, Prestige
- Tricks of the Mind: the Self, the Other
- Gods of the Underground: Did You Just What
- A Visit From The Stork: Is What You Yes
- The Voracious Dark: Two Deals Made
- The Voracious Dark: The Promised Sixth
- Moth's Flight: Not In Her Wildest Dreams
- An Ancient Sea: The Hedonist's Inspiration
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- A Word: SEA
- A Word: HUNGER
- A Word: CHAOS
- A Weapon: Explosive Cysts
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Naked
- Red and gold vest and breeches combo
- Leather boots
- Traces of Mischief: 90% Boneless
- Wounds: 1
- 14033 gp (in sack)
- The Flip Side: Uh, Yeah
- The Queen's Guard: Unusual Troublemaker
- Powers of the Beyond: Gardener of Thoughts
- Dusty Wooden Speaking-Trumpet
- Crossbow Bolt (in throat)
- A Word: REND
- A Word: SILENCE
- A Weapon: Murder-Thought
- Uncoupled: Strength
- Wooden Door (held)
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Back To The Drawing Board
- Tower of the Mind: Endless Well of Mystery
- Induced Lucidity: A Garden Well-Tended
- Elongated Affairs: Enemy of the New State
- A Place In History: Vastly Unreliable
- Anglefork Castle: the Great Worm
- The Obsolete Class: Suggested Victims
- 2 rats, crushed
- 1 rat, strangled
- 1 rat, live
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday ± 2 Days
- The Impromptu Prophecy: There's A Mountain Higher Than We Knew
- 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 Good Doctor: An Eager Listener
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- Troubles In Anglefork Town: Bearer of the Sword
- Wet tree branch
- A Word: ABSENCE
- A Word: GOODBYE
- A Weapon: The Sword They Fear
- Traces of Mischief: Nausea's Depths
- A Bowl, Black and Knobby
- Anglefork Castle: From Another Time, Another Land
- Tight Leather Pants (worn)
- Incredibly Tight Blue Dress (worn, mutilated, mildly provocative)
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday, July 25th, 409 S.D.
- The Majordomo: Busy Morning
- The Good Doctor: House Call
- The Queen's Guard: A Reward Well Earned
- Make A Man Out Of You: A Crowning Achievement
- The New Queen: Lasting Gratitude
- Tower of the Mind: Advice Given
- The Obsolete Class: Let Them Be
- The One They Fear: A Satisfactory Contract
- A Place In History: A Worthwhile Associate
- The Box: Absolutely Delightful
- The Flip Side: One of Them
- Body Count: 2
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- A Word: REVELATION
- Wounds: 1
- The Serpent's Egg: Dissemination
- Body Count: 4
- Time-ender's measure (wrapped, yawning)
- 10 m of rope
- Half a candle
- 1 rat, skinless and smoked
- 6 gp
- Poor Misshapen Dice
- Lock of Hair (unidentified)
- Iron nail, unused
- An Inauspicious Key
- Burlap Foot Wrappings (worn)
- Burlap Hand Wrappings (worn)
- Moth-Eaten Hat (worn)
- Respectable Brown Skirt (worn)
- Old Brown Waistcoat (worn)
- Bright Yellow Tunic (worn)
- A Wealth of Burlap Ribbons
- An Obsolete Class: Trustworthy Individual
- The Doom Guard: The Inquisition Moves On
- Tower of the Mind: Get Away
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: The Less Dangerous Friend
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Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 244205 times)