I stare at the fire for few minutes before adopting "warrior sage meditating by fire" pose and going back to my mental world. There I construct Bifröst which will be my point of entrance and exit between the two realms. Check in with Hœnir about that prophecy of his before I go cooking more fine mead in Hymir's cauldron.
"I'm pretty sure it wouldn't gone that way if you hadn't warned me in first place. Damn self-fulfilling prophecies."
You adopt your best "bearded shirtless dude passing out by a fire" pose and head straight into dreamland, this time in style as you ride a rainbow down to the scattered islands of bone-strewn earth in the vast oceans of alcoholic grapefruit. It is on one such island that Hœnir meets you - as was prophesied, it seems!
As he shakes his stick in greeting, you take a moment to offer some constructive criticism about his gift of prophecy. For instance, the way this one seemed to be mostly self-fulfilling. He shrugs in response. All good bits of prophecy are, aren't they? Actually, wait. Hold that thought. He holds up the stick.
[Prophetic Ponderings: 6]
Ha! Aha! Yeah, Hœnir says. Suffice it to say that your future probably includes a lot more in the way of explosions. Especially once you master the three magic words! Find out what makes men into houses, and you'll have the first!
Wait, you say, is this a prophecy or a quest, to which Hœnir asks if there's any real difference between the two. You'd fail either if you're shit enough at this, wouldn't you?
Thomas felt like he was missing part of the show, but he also felt like he'd hardly rested at all recently. His body didn't really want to get up yet.
Rest. Watchful waiting.
You've never thought yourself much of a claustrophile, but you have to admit there's a certain inviting quality to being able to feel the limits of the space you're in. Well, except in the direction that leads deeper down. You're not sure how deep that goes, really. Or if anything lives down there.
[Curious Little Creatures: 2]
You're not sure what would be living in here if that were the case, though. The hole feels kind of man-sized. Or, now that you think about it, a little smaller than that. Or a lot smaller. Thinking about the question makes you weirdly uncomfortable for some reason.
[Hear the Soft Padding Feet: 4 vs. 4]
You also think something's approaching from deeper in, mostly by the sniffing noises that are slowly closing in. Oh dear. You hope you haven't disturbed anything.
"Hm, I could probably see what's over there, being a mermaid and all. But first I think I need rest. The other side can be very dangerous, and before I met you I ran into some trouble. Is there a place in the temple I could lay down for a little while?" If the fisher knows somewhere I can rest, I sleep there. If not, I lay down anywhere free of biting animals.
[Gimme Shelter: 5]
Oh, there is, the fisher says. Few things come here in general. But for when they do, it is best to find a place to hide. She ushers you off the steps and past a tall hedge of coral into the darker recesses of the chamber, where along the side the wall grows increasingly porous and organic, and a man-sized hole is found, lined with compacted, yet soft algae. The fisher sinks her arm into it briefly, clearing out an ornery lobster that's taken up residence within as well as pulling out a very much resisting squid, hurling it away as it starts to spray black ink in great spouting rivulets and menaces her briefly with a great many hooks.
In any case, for when safety is required, sleep here - there are several along the wall for when she has guests, and in each she has never heard of anyone finding trouble, provided you check it before your rest. Would you like to try?
Clearly you would, you think as you slip into the recessed little cubbyhole, and find it surprisingly snug and comfortable, the rhythmic waving of the algae lulling you into a surprisingly easy rest, a dreamless sleep coming and going as you close your eyes one moment and open them the rest, barely noticeable apart from the great sense of relief throughout your body and the vague sensation of time passing.
Norse shit? This is because of someone from earth.
SOMEONE FUCKED UP
Lie on the ground and heal, plotting my inevitable and completely unnecessarily elaborate killing of whoever caused this.
You very deliberately sprawl on the ground with a displeasing wet flop, not so much resting as letting your thoughts of horrible vicious revenge upon any and all who inconvenience you age into a slightly more premeditated cold-blooded murder in the making.
[Not A Real Worm, But A Real Knight: 5 vs. 5]
Clashes of steel upon ineffable luminous mist accompany your rest as you stare into the sky, seething quietly.
[And Not A Word Was Spoken: 3+1 vs. 3]
Followed quickly by the unmistakable sound of a pitch-perfect shank to the eye of a dragon. And then seventeen more in similarly sensitive places from the sound of it. You hear a terrible death gurgle as the great beastly boat is presumably brought down in a team effort no doubt worthy of song and all that, and the fizzing noise of reality growing unstable as it falls limp and starts to dissolve onto the ground.
[The Dragonsong: 6]
But before that ceases, you hear a keening noise that, despite your best efforts to ignore it, sets your entire being on edge in a way you didn't think was entirely possible, a restlessness making you look in spite of yourself. The smiling captain of the guard, engaging in his solitary joy of watching things be annihilated. The turnkey, returning to his side. The Worm-knight, backing away cautiously. And the crew of the ship, gathered and singing as the melt and bubble away, safe in their knowledge that they have done as they should, and now know the fate they were promised.
[Listen, And Listen Well: 3]
Can the goddamn noise, you shake your floppy fist at the ship as you give it one last almost-voluntary stab with the murder-thought, cutting off a few of the voices as you separate their heads from their bodies, whereupon they explode into elaborate tableaus of people being flayed alive and lashed to trees. Sheesh, some people are trying to sleep here!
As you start to lie back down, you notice a rather grubby young woman draped in an artfully arranged bedsheet standing over you, glancing at the dying longboat dragon before turning her eyes to you. You exchange mutual dead-eyed stares before she smiles gently. Oh, don't mind her. She's just intrigued by the rather wretched state of your body. How on
earth did you survive all that, if you don't mind her asking?
"That sounds good. In other news, I think I'll try to head for El; if they've already developed alchemy my knowledge will be of most use there. Any objections? Oh, and if either of you want to drop out now feel free to do so. I'm not exactly safe to be around."
Into the forest it is. Preferably in a Westerly direction.
Abandon
you, Mr. Wilde? Nately shakes his head. You're the only one who can make sense of any of this! He could never forgive himself if he left you to find out all these answers by yourself!
[See You On The Flip Side: 1]
Deirdre looks at Nately, then at you as you begin to head for the river, which you presume you'll need to cross to head westward. As you stop on the shore a little ways away from the town of Anglefork, she looks out west. Yeah, she says, if it's all the same to you she might take you up on that offer, she says as Nately raises an eyebrow. She gets that overpowering feeling that going on a cross-country trip with you is only going to get her into yet more trouble.
So yeah, she shrugs. Guess this is where you part ways. For what it's worth, Mr. Wilde, you're probably the least insane of all these otherworldly guys, and even if you and her didn't really help each other that much in the end, it's been kind of a pleasure to hang around (when it wasn't completely goddamn terrifying). So all the best to you, and she'll try to make her own way. Maybe find herself some lunch first, though, she says, and turns to head toward Anglefork, where you see the rather large host of guards and servants, the former arrayed in fine arms and armor and the latter arrayed in whatever sharp and heavy things they could find, head into the town proper, meeting little in the way of immediate resistance.
Anyway, the river. At this point in the river there is only one crossing, but it does seem to be a bit of a wide one compared to its branches. On the other hand, the waters seem a mite calmer here than upstream, though not by much.
Leif Erikson, Miner
- A Word: INEVITABLE
- A Word: APOCALYPSE
- Body Count: 228
- Wounds: 1
- 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
- In Living Memory: Yeah She's Probably Dead Isn't She I Think She's Dead Yeah
- Traces of Mischief: Drowned
- The Mirror-Fisher: White Mermaid
- The Doom Guard: Consorting With The Enemy
- Exotic serrated zweihander
- White silk bandeau and loincloth
- Inauspicious Day: Off Into The Horizon
- Giant White Mushroom
- A Word: SEA
- A Word: HUNGER
- A Word: CHAOS
- A Weapon: Explosive Cysts
- The Voracious Dark: Three Connections Given
- Tower of the Mind: There's Something To Remember
- The New Queen: And Something To Forget
- Body Count: 1
- The Impromptu Prophecy: ?
- Sweet Little Children: Fond Farewell
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Naked
- Red and gold vest and breeches combo
- Leather boots
- Traces of Mischief: 90% Boneless
- Wounds: 4
- 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: A Medical Curiosity
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- Troubles In Anglefork Town: Bearer of the Sword
- 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
- Gross Incandescence: Partly Illuminated
- 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
Author
Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 243387 times)