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Author Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written  (Read 240690 times)

Toaster

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2160 on: April 18, 2017, 03:12:18 pm »

At this point, Thomas's long-neglected adrenaline had fully kicked in.  "Lads!  Are we going to let them stop us from climbing up this hill?  Never!  Charge!

Charge!
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2161 on: April 18, 2017, 07:23:04 pm »

"Yeah, that could have gone a lot better. But we can worry about it tomorrow morning. Right now we need to rest, so tomorrow we can tackle whatever life throws at us next with renewed spirits."

I look for a bed to pass out in.
« Last Edit: April 19, 2017, 07:22:56 am by penguinofhonor »
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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2162 on: April 19, 2017, 11:02:05 am »

Yeah, it's not really either. It is a realm of my own. Might as well name it.

"I name thee Jehwlheimr!"

Is Morag really here? I see certain... hmm, lack of variance in her behaviour. Does she have any suggestions for decor? I'm considering some sort of memory theater with full service. And a dark well.  One with stairs so getting in and out would be easier. I'm not certain if I want to add that door though.
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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2163 on: April 20, 2017, 02:40:13 pm »

"Thank you, whoever that was. If the evidence of an apparently sophisticated pharmaceutical industry is a little surprising."

An aspirin sounds good right now. Then pocket a sweet and see what's on the other side of the door.
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2164 on: April 23, 2017, 11:15:25 am »

At this point, Thomas's long-neglected adrenaline had fully kicked in.  "Lads!  Are we going to let them stop us from climbing up this hill?  Never!  Charge!

Charge!

[Sureness Permanent Assurance: 5]

They're well-insured for injuries sustained in the field of battle, you've got a mighty mystical sword that you're not afraid to use, you're about to engage in a downhill charge and your enemies are obviously demoralized and poorly trained. You're damn right they're ready to teach these mountaineer-kicking bastards a thing or two about hospitality. Canes, axes, knives and more are raised as your retinue charges down with you, ready to kick ass and take names!

[Crush These Fools: 3+1+1 vs. 2]

Skulls crack, axes are planted into shoulders and you yourself cut a swath through the front ranks of actual fighters with astounding ease as they disappear before your very eyes as if they were but smoke and tricks of the light. The ones that, say, Lily handily concusses with repeated blows to the head, or Nobody cleaves with his woodsman's axe, or that Gamble starts to strangle with nothing more than his bare hands, they're a bit more messy after a fashion. The ridge-dwellers are sent into a full retreat within moments, men and women diving into the brush and tripping over greenery to get back to their little village, where they seem intent on retreating into their caves.

Gamble strides up to your side after you've soundly dispelled these villagers, wiping his hands after a job well done. Lily seems to still be beating on a downed man as a few others watch thoughtfully, having soundly finished their respective opponents in their own time. Tabernacle sits atop a woman he appears to have stabbed in the throat, awaiting further instructions. Silver looks well-pleased with himself as he examines the fellow he appears to have clocked round the head most fatally indeed. Spears litter the ground from the four or so you hit and the even seven taken down by your followers, a perfect picture of carnage well-done.

Where to now, Gamble asks with a smile on his face. He bets those tents have supplies, a spot of looting might be in order, don't you think?

"Yeah, that could have gone a lot better. But we can worry about it tomorrow morning. Right now we need to rest, so tomorrow we can tackle whatever life throws at us next with renewed spirits."

I look for a bed to pass out in.

This being an inn, a bed does readily present itself for your resting enjoyment up on the second floor - you and the doctor head right up. Oggie meanwhile stays downstairs, seemingly not quite ready to rest yet.

Luckily there's a very decent room at the end of the hall with a rather sizable bed at that - the doctor asks if you wouldn't mind if she shared your room. Bit uneasy about staying alone in a strange place, you know. You're tired enough to raise no objection as the two of you get comfortable in the room and you drift quickly into sleep. You hear a few things go bump downstairs, probably Oggie pacing around. Other than that, the late afternoon is quite free of noise and disturbance, and your sleep is remarkably restful in these more than adequate quarters.

You wake up quite early, right on time to see the sun rise at what you estimate is about five in the morning. The doctor is sleeping soundly next to you, drooling gently into her pillow. You try not to wake her as you get up and get dressed. You know, you don't think you've had a civilized night's rest since you got here (minus possibly the drunken escapade the last time you were here). If you're not careful you might get used to it.

[Nightly Adventures: 1]

Oggie is still downstairs. She appears to have made breakfast out of something she found out in the woods, a brief adventure in its own right that she appears very keen to tell you more about. The result is, well, it's certainly something. Cold, wet and very grayish, it smells like burnt hair and bristles with unusual bones (kept in for flavor, Oggie assures you). You try some under pressure, and almost instantly deeply regret it.

Yeah, it's not really either. It is a realm of my own. Might as well name it.

"I name thee Jehwlheimr!"

Is Morag really here? I see certain... hmm, lack of variance in her behaviour. Does she have any suggestions for decor? I'm considering some sort of memory theater with full service. And a dark well.  One with stairs so getting in and out would be easier. I'm not certain if I want to add that door though.

[Where Am I: 2]

You tap at Morag with your thoughts. She keeps nodding resolutely. Might've passed out at some point during your little mental field trip. She's put in an admirable effort at continuing to listen despite this, however! You bounce a couple of great ideas off her and she appears to agree that you're on the right track here! A memory theater, wow! And a dark well, how could she not nod to that?

[Building Better Worlds: 3]

You take a few shots at replaying some of your memories in a way reminiscent of your eye-theater. It's a little bit disappointing, you gotta say, since by its very nature you know exactly what you're going to see there, and it sadly happens to be exactly how you remember it as well.

The well similarly is very faithfully recreated as what it is - a strange and incongruous hole in the ground that you could ostensibly use for some kind of bizarre minding experiment if one happened to come to mind. For lack of any mysterious doors leading to the threshold of a great devouring void, however, that seems to be all it is.

"Thank you, whoever that was. If the evidence of an apparently sophisticated pharmaceutical industry is a little surprising."

An aspirin sounds good right now. Then pocket a sweet and see what's on the other side of the door.

The hard candies are complimentary (in fact it's hard to just take one on account of how they've melded together). The aspirin, however, decidedly is not.

[The Med-O-Mat: 5]

It takes a bit to figure out the system as you try to tug at the bottle of aspirin in various ways after opening its corresponding drawer, but it fails to budge in any way, your attempts met with seemingly insurmountable resistance with no obvious source.

You ponder this a moment, and something occurs to you. You take out your set of misshapen dice from their moldering exile in your pockets and rattle them in your hand for a few seconds. There is a sharp intake of ventilation around you as you experimentally place them in the drawer, then grab at the bottle of aspirin once again - this time it comes free quite easily, and you help yourself to a couple before noticing a glass of water at the top of the shelf of drawers. You go ahead and have some, well pleased at how this trade seems to have worked out. The aspirin, naturally, helps as well.

As the edge of your headache fades you open up the door - this appears to lead back into the main room of the spatially unlikely shop, rows upon rows of display cases as far as the eye can see stretching before you in the well-lit premises populated with whatever artifacts the ever-helpful pawnbroker can muster.

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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2165 on: April 23, 2017, 03:41:36 pm »

Daniels abruptly snaps out of his fugue, eyes refocusing on something that isn't empty space. "I only just convinced it to go back in there, I doubt it'd enjoy me cutting into it again. Singing it is!"

Sing a lullaby or something or other to the juggler to soothe it while it burns.

((My apologies, I genuinely thought I posted an action.))
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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2166 on: April 23, 2017, 03:59:42 pm »

A trickle about realism in effect was starting to tug at the back of Thomas's mind, but the practical was coming up first.  Had he eaten yet today?  It was hard to remember for some reason.  "Let's grab what we need and go.  Sticking around here is a bad idea; load up and we go to the top."

Grab the easy usefuls and let's go up the ridge.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2167 on: April 24, 2017, 05:40:35 am »

Now that memory theater is up and running lets review few interesting cases; for example those mysterious and important star patterns I saw in Lee's dress at some point and somewhere else too. Actually, let's also arrange personel to ensure that from now on, everything I perceive is recorded, double checked against corruption, and doubly archived. Some security too, check if Heimdallr would do honors. Can't go along forgetting things so often and easily.
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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2168 on: April 24, 2017, 11:16:25 am »

"Well, this has certainly improved my opinion of pawnbrokers! I'll be back when I want something."
Find the way out and see about tying that cart to anything sturdy-looking enough. Maybe knot some burlap together to make an impromptu tether if the rope's not long enough?
Or have a look at that third shop if it isn't at the top of the hill at the moment.
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

penguinofhonor

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2169 on: April 26, 2017, 05:49:16 pm »

"So, uh, what have you rounded up for us this morning? Seems like it was a very impressive specimen of... whatever it was."
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Harry Baldman

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2170 on: April 29, 2017, 08:51:45 am »

Daniels abruptly snaps out of his fugue, eyes refocusing on something that isn't empty space. "I only just convinced it to go back in there, I doubt it'd enjoy me cutting into it again. Singing it is!"

Sing a lullaby or something or other to the juggler to soothe it while it burns.

((My apologies, I genuinely thought I posted an action.))

[Killing Me Softly With His Song: 3]

The juggler taps a two-bodied rhythm on the oven door. This seems to be mostly to help you keep your own pace, as it seems to notice you flagging a bit after ten minutes or so as you completely exhaust your working knowledge of lullaby-sounding things. You're halfway through a particularly breathy down-tempo "Sweet Child O' Mine" when you wonder if this is particularly working at all.

You turn to the cooks. Their advice? Don't run away to join the opera. Yeah, the other one says, they already lose a lot of employees that way - there was this one scullion, see, now that kid had a set of pipes. Shame he only knew one song though... oh, you wanted to know about the juggler? Uh, one of them says. Well, the other one adds. Hm, they both continue.

They do guess it's a bit worrying that being exposed to extreme heat over long periods of time doesn't seem to be killing it. If they had to guess, it'd be that the thing is pretty committed to this sentience malarkey. Probably unsalvageable as a snack food, one of the cooks shrugs. Unless you've got very specialized tastes.

There's a pounding at the oven door as the juggler appears to wonder where you've gone off to. Fortunately it looks like it likes you, a cook points, or is at least subtle enough about its murderous impulses that it's difficult to detect. Go by intuition, the other one advises, it's always best to follow your heart when it comes to family. Oh, the first one says, you can take it along to the feast! The cap'n will love it, they're sure, at least if you can teach it some table manners.

A trickle about realism in effect was starting to tug at the back of Thomas's mind, but the practical was coming up first.  Had he eaten yet today?  It was hard to remember for some reason.  "Let's grab what we need and go.  Sticking around here is a bad idea; load up and we go to the top."

Grab the easy usefuls and let's go up the ridge.

[The Loot of the Day: 4]

When you give the go-ahead, your fellows waste no time in trailing after the vanquished tribe and tearing into their tents, coming away with a good deal of clothing, tools, something that Lily is reasonably sure is medicinal and Helen can vouch for giving a pretty good kick, miscellaneous odds and ends. Seems like the others that fled did not try to take their supplies with them. Loaded with a fair bit of goods, you make your way to the top of the ridge.

[I Can See For Miles And Miles: 6]

From the top you see a great deal, as the day has become rather clear and beautiful. Tabernacle and Silver flank you on either side as you peer at the forests and plains of the vast and unfriendly north stretching out below, the cliffs on the other side of the hill looking gentler than the ones you climbed up on, if not necessarily by much. At least the more vertical parts are much shorter on that end than this one, with a few fortified-looking positions now laying empty in what must be very hard-to-see locations from lower down.

Out in the unspeakable distance you see towers - that you can see them from this far off speaks to their immense size. Elizabeth, Tabernacle points out. Not far now, maybe two days if you get down without problems. You turn to him - does he know much about the area on the way? You must say that the people here weren't very accommodating. Anybody friendly on the way?

Simply put, no. But there are some landmarks he's heard about from the occasional wanderer that the bears and the Spiders didn't manage to get. Right over there, he points to the faintest trace of a clearing some three miles off, that'd be the old monastery. Full of ghosts if you believe the stories. Clansmen stay away though, which is good, 'cause right around here is where the woods get right unfriendly.

Even the road, Silver points toward the highway, still visible off to the north. Especially the highway, Tabernacle nods. On good days it'll be infested with Spiders, and on bad days you'd be running into the Dragons or Storks.

He mentioned something about unfriendly woods, you steer the conversation. Yep, he says. Not many people come through those, but they talk about clansmen, animals and things. Business as usual around Elizabeth, he's heard. Something about the city drives the forests wild, apparently.

Aha, you say, and what'd that be, you point over to a streak where the forest appears to clear some distance off to the southwest. Tabernacle shrugs - hasn't heard anything about that. Looks like a dell, maybe a gorge? Hard to tell from this distance. Take a bit to figure out where you'll be steering this train, he shrugs, he'll go and get the others from the cliffs so you can make it somewhere before nightfall. Don't want to be exposed out in the woods at night, no sir.

Now that memory theater is up and running lets review few interesting cases; for example those mysterious and important star patterns I saw in Lee's dress at some point and somewhere else too. Actually, let's also arrange personel to ensure that from now on, everything I perceive is recorded, double checked against corruption, and doubly archived. Some security too, check if Heimdallr would do honors. Can't go along forgetting things so often and easily.

[Cache In The Memory Bank: 1]

They say people don't actually remember things, they just remember remembering them. You never held any truck with that kind of sophistry. No, you remember remembering things by remembering the thing you use to remember them with, in this case Heimdallr and his rather fanciful horn, who appears to be unemployed now that Bifrost went and collapsed. Now he can blow his horn several times every day (much to the chagrin of the gods, who are rather used to horns being blown in times of emergency as opposed to habitually) to assist you with something you were hoping to recover. First off, you guess you should take a look at those star charts.

BWOOOOT, responds Heimdallr with his horn, clearly excited to have a job again, and goes to man (god?) the projector, which shows you what for all you know is probably an accurate picture of the night sky. Look, there's the polestar. And also the Big Dipper somewhere off to the left. You're not very good with constellations, you quickly realize. Better commit them to memory.

Heimdallr, you call! BWOOOOOOOT, he responds enthusiastically. You order him to go ahead and record all of these memories you have on hand. He nods with a very professional kind of bwoot, and proceeds to very accurately commit your memories to your memory, double-checking them against your memory for any signs that your memory might not correspond with your memory.

You decide to leave him to it. Sounds like a very formidable undertaking and probably a very boring one, exactly the kind of thing you can forget about until you need it again.

This place is pretty weird, Morag says from behind you. Things don't move when you're not looking at them, but you can see this kind of tension about them, like they're ready to burst into action as soon as you turn their way.

"Well, this has certainly improved my opinion of pawnbrokers! I'll be back when I want something."
Find the way out and see about tying that cart to anything sturdy-looking enough. Maybe knot some burlap together to make an impromptu tether if the rope's not long enough?
Or have a look at that third shop if it isn't at the top of the hill at the moment.


Your praise is met with a warm breeze. As you turn around, the rows of display cases have parted as the bizarre architecture of the pawnbroker's shop gives way to a straight shot toward the exit, which takes you out of the faux-daylit corridors of the shop back into the miserable dark streets of the Tell of the Setting Sun, where you turn your mind toward matters of engineering.

[To Catch A Handcart: 1]

The teamster is unfortunately not present, and neither is his cart. Not to mention that you have doubts that something as generally spirited as that cart would be restrained by something so elementary as a mere tether. What you need is something a bit more clever, certainly. Perhaps there's a shop here that has what you need, you think as you wander down the main street of the merchant quarter to look for whichever shop it is that smells rather good in the distance.

[A Dash Of Cologne For That Smell: 5]

Perfume appears to be only the most intense part of the bouquet you are exposed to as you come over to the metastasizing sprawl of the perfumer's shop that has spilled back, forth and sideways into several nearby establishments that proved to be more sensitive to the passage of time, a mini-mall reeking of acetone, strong alcohol, formaldehyde and hydrocarbons of varying ripeness beneath a heady mix of floral and fruity scents. The air becomes thick as you step into the center of this street, littered with the bodies of the tell's citizens (and a couple of functionaries and street sweepers) that appear to have been completely overcome by the smell. The chug of machines and the boil of strange chemicals comes from open windows and unlocked doors in the compound.

Hullo, comes a shouted call from one of the top windows, followed by the caller slamming right down with it some seven feet to your right. You jump at the sudden smacking of her bulk and cracking of bones against the cobblestones and rush to her to check if she's all right before she waves you off and sits up, taking a moment to rearrange her bones in roughly the way they were supposed to be.

She looks definitely well-preserved on a chemical level, and her features have the look of careful sculpture over many years. Her dress looks obviously very well-laundered (as does her skin, in a disturbingly literal sense) until it hit the cobblestones. It's no trouble at all, she says as she stumbles to her feet. Scratches and scuffs on her appear to have been painted many times over, and some bits have well-disguised patches on closer examination. Her elbows, however, visible due to her rolled-up sleeves, seem to have worn away their skin completely and now only constitute a layer of bone painted roughly the same color.

Sorry about that, she says as she gets up and locks her knees in place through an unseen mechanism, wobbling into a stable posture. You surprised her! Shouldn't, hic, do that, you know, she was fixing up an experiment when you came along. Care for some, hic, tea? Rare that such a, hurk, charming young man comes along to her emporium!

"So, uh, what have you rounded up for us this morning? Seems like it was a very impressive specimen of... whatever it was."

Oggie is more than happy to tell you all about it. She's had an eventful night.

[A Hunt At Sundown: 3]

When you went to bed, she hoped to find the innkeeper. It would not do to let her inform the other stoatfolk of the encounter she had. She had left a trail, a minor one, and Oggie hoped to track her so that she would not be a problem in the future. She located her up the road, and threw a large rock at her - this unfortunately seems to have missed from what you understand, and the ensuing encounter resulted in the innkeeper fleeing into the woods for cover. Oggie gave good chase, and though she was unable to catch the stoat in the end, she is confident that the innkeeper is now deep enough in the woods and sufficiently rattled, not to mention unable to make any kind of shelter before nightfall. All of these together, she is unlikely to make it out of the woods any time soon.

There was still time before morning at that point (you ask if Oggie sleeps, and she seems confused at the question), so what she then chose to do was look for some kind of local animal that would serve as adequate food. Several alternatives presented themselves, but most were too nimble. The one she brought back tried to hunt her, which proved to be a terrible mistake on his part - it appears to have been an exotic cross of a tiger and a centipede in all the worst ways. Many legs, but surprisingly easy to outmaneuver. Arboreal and very poisonous.

You pause in your half-hearted eating. Poisonous, she says. Oggie raises her hands - no problem, do not misunderstand. She has means and ways for fixing that, even if ingredients are second-rate above-ground. Fungi are sub-par in particular, but close enough to help. Had to pulp the good bits (not many of those), filter, mix with some other things, boil three times. Oggie's explanation about this is by far the longest part of her tale, and indeed appears to have constituted the greater part of her nightly activities.

Try the bones, Oggie gently nudges you. They are best part. You have one, and note that she is quite correct after you nearly break your teeth on cracking them open and suck out the slight amount of marrow, which tastes only mostly objectionable rather than wholly repulsive. It takes you quite a bit of concentration to keep getting through this, and the conversation experiences a distinct lull.

She would like to say something, Oggie mentions a little more uncertainly. She is, she hesitates, looking for a word, sorry for some of the things she did, the handling of the innkeeper. She thought intimidation would fix the situation. Or merely snapping the woman in half, this would fix more things and be eminently more pleasurable. But it did not work, and she is sorry for not respecting your judgment. So she made breakfast.

Yes, you say, your verbal skills mildly deteriorating at the sensory assault that is this stew.

Oggie looks like she's about to say something more, but her attention suddenly turns to the doctor, who seems to have got through most of her morning routine as she comes downstairs, stretching her arms as she bids good morning to you and then, considerably more hesitantly, to Oggie as well. She does not take well to the breakfast either, and to her credit does somewhat expertly deflect attention by asking where you all intend to go today (and, in an unspoken sense, how you intend to go about it). Kingsbridge is not far off and you could make it before the late afternoon, certainly, so you could go there and maybe try to blend in, she says in a tone that suggests she's kind of hoping you have a better plan than that.

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« Last Edit: April 29, 2017, 09:05:10 am by Harry Baldman »
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AoshimaMichio

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2171 on: April 29, 2017, 10:47:56 am »

"What?"

That's just wrong. Pluck my third eye from my forehead and toss it high into the sky so it can watch everything here at once. To keep things in motion.

Lazy bastards.
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Xantalos

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2172 on: April 30, 2017, 09:45:39 pm »

"Hmm. Well, I've always liked the idea of a giant blob of flesh following me around to devour my foes. My teachers were always worried about it, but look at me now!
Trouble is I already convinced it to go in there to be eaten. Hmm. I suppose I'll have to try this intuition thing out."


Look deep within myself! Not necessarily that far, but y'know. Intuition level. What does my gut tell me I should do with this massive hunk of apparently sentient horse flesh?
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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2173 on: May 01, 2017, 03:41:30 pm »

"I'd love some, thank you.
What was the experiment, if you don't mind me asking?"


Time for a hopefully-pleasant cuppa and a chat about labwork. Not like the day can get any stranger.
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I would ask why fire can burn two men to death without getting hot enough to burn a book, but then I read "INEXTINGUISHABLE RUNNING KAMIKAZE RADIOACTIVE FLAMING ZOMBIE" and realized that logic, reason, and physics are all occupied with crying in the corner right now.

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Re: Our Salvation: Maybe Just Omit The Human Sacrifice
« Reply #2174 on: May 01, 2017, 03:47:36 pm »

Well, this is starting to look obvious.  "Okay.  We'll head for the monastery; sounds like a great place to camp.  Everyone knows there's no such thing as ghosts.  We'll just have to avoid the highway as we move north; I can't stand the thought of spiders.  Let's move out.  Wish I had my camera; quite a lovely view."


Aim for the clearing.  Let's try to get there without being noticed by anything else.
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.
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