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Topic: The Day They Woke Up on the Wrong Side of Reality
Subject: Alright, so we're not going straight to the action like I promised. Prelude:
(I stole the last section from above and put it into the beginning of this post)
Morning to Sundown
Fourth Day
Corazon, Gaellus
With dawn’s arrival, the uneasiness of the night washed away like a foolish nightmare. Yesterday evening’s thunderstorm departed in the night, leaving only puddles and toppled items as evidence of its passage. We rose and prepared our gear, and went downstairs to be pleasantly surprised to discover that breakfast was included in our keep (though dinner/lunch and supper would have to be acquired by our own means). More than one of us mentally ticked off the first of our three-day free ride. Should somebody inquire, the keep for our rooms amounts to twenty-four silver nobles per night, which, conveniently, split three ways makes a eight nobles a person per night (with same individual price for the two-person room).
After breakfast we equipped ourselves for the ride south, gathering our weapons and strapping on armour. I double checked my already-prepared spells to make sure there was nothing I should change. When we came back down, the cart was already there. After a brief introduction and a wave of our documents, we were off and plodding out of the city and into the expansive plains south, that nicely mirrored those to the north.
As predicted, the most threatening things during the trip were idle chatter, heat, and the occasional passing cart. I, personally, sat off the back of the cart, facing north with my hood drawn partway up my neck and my forearms mostly protected from the sun by my body. Kiara, as her name came to be, preferred to nap in the sun at the top of the mound of supplies dominating the cart, her belly full of the remainder of the fish from last night. Already she was looking less skinny and unkempt, though she might need a bath or a throw into a lake still. For lunch she stalked through the tall grass nearby while I rode the signals that passed between us like casual conversation.
We eventually arrived in the small town, Surton, around suppertime with plenty of daylight left. The town was large enough to warrant a small inn for travellers passing to and from Corazon, so we took up lodging there while the cart owners unloaded the supplies at the church across the street. A man who seemed to have been appointed as spokesman, or mayor, of the town and another who looked to be a priest met with them to oversee proceedings.
At some point during the evening we managed to attract a small following of children who were excited to see real guards and were fascinated by our weapons. They asked questions about what kinds of things we did and about our gear, and otherwise chattered eagerly. One particularly enthusiastic boy declared, “I’m going to be a Hunter when I grow up!”
I chuckled with the boy, “So you want to kill monsters for a living?”
“Yeah, and I’ll make sure the monsters are too scared to come out of their holes!”
“Well, you see, the first thing you have to do after you have your gear is to find the monster, and that’s no easy task, I have to say. I haven’t seen a monster yet, but if I do, you can be sure I’ll plant my staff right between his eyes.” Undead were reanimated corpses, I reasoned, not really monsters.
“That’s okay,” the boy replied, beaming, “I’ll practice with the Demon Dog and make sure he promises never to bother people or eat our livestock again.”
Demon Dog? Shortly thereafter the children ran away home, being called before they had a chance to explain this creature to us beyond the vague mention that it has been coming out at night and eating the farmers’ sheep and that the grown-ups are all upset about it.
Afterward, the mayor came to see us, an about middle-aged man who smiled a lot and looked concerned about something, to ‘check to make sure we were all settled for the evening’. It wasn’t a large jump between his conspicuous appearance and a certain recent question, so you could have seen it coming that some one asked him about the stories of this demonic canine. It was actually one of the cart drivers who posited the question, who had been spending the evening at the alehouse until it suddenly vacated at about nine.
The mayor paused as he stood up, catching the question as he moved to leave. “I suppose I ought to say something—I only didn’t want to scare you unnecessarily. If you believe the stories, it’s been haunting the area for a few weeks, but since about Midsummer, a few days ago, we have been able to hear the beast’s hunting from town. I wouldn’t concern yourselves with it, though, it has been hunting our sheep in the field mostly, and I’ve already contracted a woodsman to deal with the matter.”
(If you have any more questions for Mr. Mayor, you may throw them in here, otherwise he head off home)
Not long after the mayor disappeared down the street, the sun dipped below the horizon entirely, throwing the town into the time of day referred to poetically as the “blue hour”, twilight. Before dusk completely fell, an eerie, low-pitched howl penetrated the night and threw an involuntary shiver down everyone’s spine, indiscriminately. Hells, it sounded like a demon dog.
Twilight,
Fourth Night, apparently also the fourth night since the Summer Solstice,
Outside of Surton, Gaellus
Beauregard broke camp with professional ease about an hour before sunset. By the time twilight had fallen, he was armed with his bow, waiting in a copse of trees just off the property of a farmer who hadn’t been struck by the Demon Dog yet. Beau grinned at that thought. The town-dwellers were always so ready to assign malicious, supernatural, melodramatic titles to whatever large beastie appeared to harass them, simply out of fear and misunderstanding.
Nevertheless, it would not do to underestimate the creature—so far it had never struck the same farm twice, demonstrating a certain level cunning. Likely it was a wolf separated from its pack that had already learned the hard way not to strike the same farm over and over. But now it was getting over sure of itself, striking so close to the town. Now its prowl had come to an end.
Beau didn’t have to wait long after sunset. The sky hadn’t even entirely lost its glow when a large, dark form slunk into view at the edge of the sheep pen. It was a large one—could have probably started its own pack without fearing much competition. Too bad it hadn’t stayed out of the local’s livestock. Beau raised his bow, judged the shot, and released.
The arrow sailed true and struck the beast in the flank just behind the shoulder, but it merely bounced off and fell into the grass. The creature yelped and twisted to face its attacker. Beau’s blood ran cold, and the bubble of levity and arrogance he was riding up until a moment ago vanished. From where he was standing he could clearly see the creature’s eyes—they glowed with an otherworldly light. Damn, the farmers weren’t exaggerating.
It lifted its head to the sky and released a horrific howl. Pure terror seized the woodsman’s heart and he turned to run, with the beast’s horrible panting following close behind him. His legs pounded the ground, but he never gained any ground. Finally, out of terror, he glanced back, catching a just as terrifying sight. He didn’t have time to scream as the large dark creature hurled its furred weight onto him. The long hunting knife in his boot forgotten, Beau thought of nothing but escaping this vicious creature and those teeth which were scrabbling for fleshy purchase.
He escaped it once, getting solid ground beneath his feet once more, breaking into a sprint again. Almost effortlessly, it caught up to him again and ploughed into him, sinking its teeth into the back of his neck with a flash of pain. As he hit the ground, the thinking part of his brain mentioned the dagger nestled against his leg. Ignoring the pain in his neck, he grasped the handle and drew it, immediately plunging it toward the monster hanging over him. Horrifyingly, the tip failed to penetrate the flesh just like the arrow. The monster reared back again and tore into his flesh again, mangling the arm that bore the knife.
Human reason rather than mind-numbing fear, this time, caused him to get up and try to flee again. He barely got up before his right calf was locked in the creature’s jaws and ripped out from underneath him. Within seconds after that, the conscious world vanished.
Once the man finally stopped struggling, the monster reared back its head at the starry sky—the gibbous moon was only just rising—and released another blood chilling howl, celebrating the victory.
Morning,
June 25, Fifth Day
Surton, Gaellus
It was a woman going out to feed her chickens who saw it first. Her shrill scream summoned a collection of individuals with stronger nerves, most of which had to look away after a moment. At a loss, some one suggested to fetch the mayor, and ran off in pursuit of that goal.
The body had been badly mangled, the throat had been violently torn open and largely consumed, as well as the navel. One of the legs was twisted at a sickening angle, and even the hard leather cuirass he wore was missing a chunk suspiciously the size of a bite. The body, where it lay on the edge of town, and the splatter marks around it gave it the impression of having been dropped from a good height. The corpse wasn’t entirely unrecognizable, however, the face was bloody but otherwise remained largely untouched. Few could stand to look at it long, while those children not immediately scooted indoors vied for a glimpse.
The mayor verified the suspicions—it was the woodsman he sent out to deal with the Demon Dog. A farmer came into town to confirm that a couple of his sheep had been stolen during the night. We were introduced to the morning’s events when we happened to see some villagers carry the body into the church on a stretcher, covered by a bloodstained sheet.
“I’m going to assemble a militia of volunteers. Plenty of people are scared, but there are those who will want to do something about this. I must admit I don’t like the idea of hiring ones as young as yourselves, but I can’t afford to be choosy. You are the only professional guards in the area, so I have to offer. Will you add your expertise to the hunt? I’m afraid we would be walking blind ourselves,” the mayor spilled on us.
I recalled the bloody sheet taken into the church. It reminded me a Verene, a “Puppy” Guardswoman who wore similar adornments after a tragic encounter, in the book Beka Cooper: Terrier.
“We’re leaving,” declared one of the supply-cart drivers, “whichever you decide, do it quick, we’re not sticking around anywhere as has something that can do that.” He gestured to the church doors. The mayor and drivers stepped back for a moment to let us decide.
I didn’t know what to do, I wanted to help, but I wasn’t sure where to begin. We were brought to this world and given these stronger bodies, these skills, these powers to be heroes, weren’t we? Supposedly. I knew which side I was on, but I didn’t offer to be the first to speak.
(And please, if you think you recognize the monster in question, I’d appreciate if you didn’t go looking through the Monster Manual to check out its abilities. ^^)
Posted on 2009-10-24 at 00:17:07.
Edited on 2009-10-24 at 00:26:13 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: The Day They Woke Up on the Wrong Side of Reality
Subject: 3/4 Players suggest I'm not giving enough action into the game--the fourth didn't mention it.
After Supper—Early Evening
Third Day
Corazon, Gaellus
Suzume led us to where our weapons were stored in the guardhouse after the meeting was finished. She remained long enough for us to collect our gear, and then gave us a bow. Ray smiled at her and she, after a blank pause, responded with a wave and a bright smile. If it wasn’t cute, you had a lump of stone counterfeiting as your heart.
Likely to his great relief, Ben succeeded in securing shelter before the storm had arrived with enough presence to rain, and so too did Ian and Ray. Two of our group, however, weren’t so entirely fortunate, though admittedly I hardly count rain as a misfortune.
A pleasantly cool wind raced through the emptying streets of Corazon, carrying with it a parcel of dark clouds, heavy with their burden of rain. The aerial giants slowly glided over the city, flashing and rumbling with idle energy, while the citizens rushed home or discovered some other form of shelter from the immanent storm.
Somewhere in the empyreal heavens, droplets of water clustered together with conspiratorial purpose. As more joined their cause, their collective mass swelled until finally the force of gravity pulling on them was great enough that they plunged through the air as a single drop. The drop hurtled earthward toward their target: A mess of oblivious orangey-red hair waiting outside the bookstore. Impact came with a resounding, magnificent pat! as the kinetic energy built up over the entire descent was released.
"Aie." I glanced skyward to ensure that it was, in fact, a raindrop and not anything else that struck my head. I glanced in through the shop's window at Galen's back, to check his progress with his purchase. The rest had continued to the Inn, but I remained in keeping with our new policy to never travel alone. I had gone in initially, but decided against spending any of my gold, not to mention it was nice outside, now that the storm had blown away a few degrees of temperature. Besides, the most important book right now was locked in a chest back at the Inn—which is not to say that I didn't consider getting something to read, or even to write in as Galen was doing.
That was when I saw the cat, creeping along the shadows by the street. There were many cats roaming stray in this city—possibly due to many rats (admittedly, black plagues didn't cross my mind just then)—but this cat in particular stood out to me. The small and scrawny, dirty and black feline inched forward with superhuman patience and control as it crept around a corner, evidently on the hunt. I took a step toward the cat, probably to better watch it like I did the ones that showed up in the yard. That was around when I had taken leave of my senses. On my way walking toward the cat, it noticed me and shot around to watch me, warily.
I watched it back, continuing to creep forward slowly. I remembered something about Ian telling me the story of Jeremy's cat catching technique (admittedly only tested on tame ones). I also remembered discovering the reasoning behind it, that staring into their eyes was a challenge so not looking directly at them worked better. Hell, I even knew that staring down an animal was never a great idea for peaceful relations (yes, even before you mentioned that, Ray), but in my defence I could not honestly confess to the presence of my mind at that moment. I reached my hand out—probably to pet it, I can only assume—and the cat pulled itself back, tensing in its corner.
Two things happened, roughly simultaneously, as in the moment before I touched the cat: First, the cat’s predatory cunning vastly expanded into limited, coherent conscious thought; second, I was the recipient of a very sudden, small scratch, on my left hand. She dropped from my hand, stunned, to the street, landing with a dazed swagger.
"There you are," I heard from a little behind me, at the entrance to the bookstore. Galen had finished his business. I glanced back at him, stooped over the cat who was slowly surveying her surroundings. Some corner of my mind, separate from myself, was radiating stunned awe and wonder, and was adjusting to cope with its new perception. I looked back at the cat. "Oh, dear sweet lord," I said, realization slowly dawning on me. I scooped up the cat, who was only just beginning to acknowledge my existence again, as gently as I could. A drop here and a drop there, the rain pattered, slowly picking up speed though not yet enough to even make the street that wet, yet. Thankfully the Inn wasn't too far away, and only just had a chance to start getting serious by the time we ran in the door. In less than half a minute later, an impressive, drenching downpour flooded the streets. Both Galen and I breathed a sigh of relief, he with his new books tucked under his chest and I with what was apparently my new familiar. Odd thought that was.
The cat decided that it had enough of being carried now and shifted its weight forward and out of my grasp. She landed, shook her head with a snap once, looked back at me, and then finally walked into the inn as if she owned the establishment and let Katrina take care of it for her while she was away. Watching her whenever possible, Galen and I sat down over by our friends. I got the sense that the cat—she would have to have a name soon—had no intention of escaping, so I let her roam for now.
Night, just before bed
Third Night
Corazon, Gaellus
The rain persisted into the late evening and early night, pounding against the panes of our windows with varying gusto. We gathered in one of the rooms before bed to go over our mission the next day, and to chat, briefly. When we saw that it was going to rain all evening, we left taking Galen’s weapons to the smithy for another day.
As we talked, I flicked pieces of unseasoned fish to the as-of-yet-nameless cat who I had mysteriously acquired a bond with. I knew, even outside the realms of the Player’s Handbook, that wizards and magicians looking to take on an animal as their familiar usually had to perform some sort of ritual that would bind the two. To the best of my knowledge and interpretation, I had certainly not performed anything resembling one. Perhaps whatever force had dropped us in this world with these new powers also saw fit to drop in a familiar? I couldn’t guess.
Presently, the beast in question leapt onto the table, using my lap as a step along the way. I felt curiosity and suspicion echo through our link, as she inspected her perspective. I tried to entice her with another piece of the fish she had been so eagerly eating up until a moment ago, but failed to attract so much as a glance. She fell into a stalking gait, keeping her body low to the desk as she crept closer to the window. I glanced out the window, but it was too dark and inside was too bright to properly see anything. “What is it, what do you see?” I asked in the kind of quiet, high-pitched voice you use with children. They say animals are capable of seeing ghosts and spirits, and after what else had gone down recently, I was very ready to believe in the possibility of phantasms stalking the living world right now.
The room went dark when I extinguished the lamp, drawing attention to me. “There’s--” something outside, I thought about saying, but a discharge of lightning explained for me, filling the window with white light from the other side of the pane.
Not much detail was available of the creature’s head in the fraction of a second in which it was illuminated. It was quite small by human standards, and pointed ears stuck out near the top of its head. It might have been a trick of the light, but the shadows across its face seemed startled.
The silhouette was replaced, just as the light died, by my familiar’s body as she impacted the window with all four legs and slid back down to the sill. The room stayed dark for another moment, and then was cast into light again by another brilliant flash, but this time, no figure appeared in the window. I drew up my power and intoned a handful of syllables that the magical portion of my mind associated with light. The minute amount of power flowed through me and into my teardrop-shaped necklace, which I held aloft for somebody to relight the lamp. I quickly killed the magical light, not needing any questions.
“What . . . was that?” somebody asked.
(I’m assuming there is just general stuff commemorating the weirdness of the occasion—there is nothing to be found if anyone feels up to running downstairs (or even out the window) into the storm to check. If anyone wants to specify a particular reaction or comment, that’s why we love backposts.)
Posted on 2009-10-20 at 21:57:13.
Edited on 2010-03-24 at 20:36:34 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction - The Clock Tower
Subject: Sir Snugglefried would be proud. King Charles the Furred would be amused.
Guinevere’s heart sank in the flood of light pouring out from the door, indicating human habitation. Not only did this ruin the secret base’s quintessential secrecy, but there wasn’t even anything particularly interesting inside—unless of course the humanoid forms of the patrons inside were actually disguises made to lure the hapless adventurers in.
“Is . . . it over?” A woman with similarly blonde hair to Guinevere, who looked to be inn-staff or keep, asked nervously. “Er, I mean . . . welcome to the Blue House Inn; how can we help you this evening?”
Guinevere paused a moment and smoothed out her skirt, then stepped across the threshold of the business and first into the building. “Good evening, is what over?” Guinevere replied politely as Bas slipped past her. She didn’t wait for her answer, leaving H.R. San Diego to fill the answers for the attendant’s questions in her pursuit of her latest charge. She kept an eye on Sebastian’s expression as she followed him. How very strange, she thought, he doesn’t twitch his whole nose when he sniffs, like a real animal. He must know what he’s doing. Eager to learn potentially useful life skills, Guinevere too began to sniff the air (taking care not to twitch her own nose), hoping to train herself to discover what it was her new mentor sought.
Her attention, however, was diverted by Bluehouse’s response to H.R. "A... busy house?" she laughed, "No, not really; those people you hear just find that it feels safer in the inn than their own houses. We haven't had a true customer in weeks, not since the clock tower began turning things upside down."
Guinevere checked the ceiling for footprints almost compulsively. These people feel safer here, at a business, than they do behind the thresholds of their own homes. Of course, judging by the teeming vigour of the streets, individual homes would be downright isolated compared to the communion of the inn. This whole town smelled of the bad spirits of fear—the kind that crept up on nervous minds and turned every shadow into an enemy.
--Aie! There were footprints! Just above the door, there was dirt tracked across the roof. Devious magic was at play here. She resolved to take care to never go out without a shirt on (that she would likely ever face such a situation outside of certain bad dreams, of course, was irrelevant). She was already properly protected for now, and Bas was growling, so she moved on.
“Oh, and sir,” Bluehouse took note of their hunt. "If you want to visit the seer, he's taken to leaving his door unlocked. It's impossible to miss; the door is velveteen blue, unlike the royal blue of most other doors, with a strange pattern on it. Although, I should tell you that most people find he leaves you with more questions than answers."
A seer, not to mention an open one—charlatan or not, Guin would have to see this. She hoped Bas would want to see (or was it be seen by?) the seer so she wouldn’t have to make a decision between duty and curiosity. Glancing down the hall, one door was painted a slightly darker shade than the rest, and for those who missed the shift, there was a so-called ‘strange pattern’ decorating it.
She glanced back to Bas, who may or may not have been actively ignoring or even paying attention to her all this time. She shifted her brown shoulder bag on her arm. “Shall we go see?”
EDIT: Whoops, as it turns out, Guinevere did see a footprint on the ceiling. Can't wait for that explaination.
Posted on 2009-10-16 at 03:40:21.
Edited on 2009-12-03 at 03:28:21 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Dying of the Light
Subject: One Human
Amon Caiedes, Lower Ward, Sigil
“These are our folk,” Phelan would say, “the downcast, downtrodden, the destitute and disparate.” The bard knew how to exercise his vocabulary. “They’re family, the workers and the beggars—even the ones that would as soon knife you as look at you, though those are more like unruly distant relations than siblings.” Amon watched the tide of bodies break forth into the streets after another long, hard day of strenuous labour and little pay.
“So, will you do it?” Gustav presses, sensing that he’s losing his target’s attention.
Amon tore his attention away from the street for a moment and watched the tiefling swoop his latest victim into his mouth, only for him to bear down on his next with that same orifice. “Rest assured, you’ll be paid well for your efforts - extra for discretion. After all, Tesch couldn’t have us fostering the impression that his shipments are vulnerable to thieves now, could he? And it’ll be what - two days’ work, three tops…” Amon flashed a grin, “Of course I’ll do it. A good performer should never deny a willing audience a show, and my audience is calling my name.” He briefly wondered, as he often did in Gustav’s presence, what it was like to have been born the bright-eyed baby of a hellspawn and the woman (or man) who would consent. Not that Amon was judgmental, of course, and he didn’t know enough about Gustav’s deeds to make informed opinions, either.
“And you can tell his magnificent meister, Tesch, that he can set his tremulous heart at ease, he has my confidence. At least until I find my discretion unnecessary or disadvantageous under the circumstance—don’t mention that last bit, though, I don’t need to make enemies before I’ve introduced myself.”
The entertainer glanced back out the filth-frosted window at the waning light. A servant of the Morninglord, hmm? Nobody was too far above petty thievery when the circumstances were dire enough, Amon thought. But where would his ardent affluence, Tesch, have heard his name, he wondered, and why would this crisis warrant his skills specifically?
Posted on 2009-10-15 at 01:22:13.
Edited on 2009-10-17 at 18:34:02 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction: The Clock Tower Q&A
Subject: Alright
It looks like this is the next for much update schedule, which means I will be trying to get that started tonight. Time to complain at the ruin of a perfectly good secret base.
Oh yeah, and I completely forgot to mention: I saw a guy on the bus the other day with a 'Hard Rock ---' jacket the other day, though which city was listed fails me.
Posted on 2009-10-14 at 18:41:47.
Edited on 2009-10-14 at 18:47:15 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: The Day They Woke Up on the Wrong Side of Reality
Subject: Ooh, could the approaching storm be a metaphor for something? Well, probably not.
“Yes, thank-you for your concern,” Mr. Sakamoto responded with a nod. Another, marginally more insistent rumble hung in the distance for a full four seconds.
“It would appear that Lady Nature has given us her warning not to tarry any longer. Very well, I have an employer who needs an escort for a shipment of supplies bound for the southern farms about a day’s journey out of the city.” Sakamoto drew a small scroll from a pocket and opened it. “A show of arms such as the ones you presented at the gate is usually enough to deter attack, so I wouldn’t expect much trouble, even from the rashest of bandits. The shipment is set to leave upon obtaining escort. Payment for this job is offered at seventy-five crowns apiece, should you choose to accept it, paid in full through the mediator—my business—upon the return to the city.” Deftly rolling the scroll, Sakamoto looked down the table at us on either side. “Do you accept this job?”
(Assuming eventual assent—individual questions and concerns can be handled. I don’t think there is any reason to object to the mission.)
“Very well, I shall alert the employer and arrange for you to be picked up in the morning. Are you staying at an inn where you wish to be picked up from?”
“Alright, a cart should be waiting to pick you up at eight of the clock tomorrow, here is your documentation,” he said, handing the scroll in his hand to Ray. “If that is all, my granddaughter will see you out. Good evening, may fortune shine on you.”
“Do hurry in, though, I suspect this will be a downpour.” His words were punctuated by a cool gust of wind and a less-distant rumble.
(I hope I didn’t miss anything obvious, I kind of rushed this post. I am not done, merely tempting fate by breaking this section from the next, which will probably be a longish narrative of events assuming there is nothing that anyone badly needs to say. Of course, any response in any of the breaks above is welcome.)
Posted on 2009-10-13 at 17:11:05.
Edited on 2010-04-25 at 03:04:40 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Aria of the Thirteen Q&A
Subject: Hehe
Admittedly, I noticed that. Iara del Rio.
In other news, working on my character is no longer a temporal impossiblilty (though I do have plenty of things trying to hold my attention). Hopefully when Faolan does return from his trip west, he won't be like a third wheel (or rather, a fourth passenger on the bike  )
Posted on 2009-10-09 at 05:10:35.
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Topic: Who Owns Rusty Dull Swords? (W.O.R.D.S.)
Subject: Nutter-butters!
Nothing
Under the
Titanic
Triune
Eye
Resolves—
—
Bashing
Ultimately
Triggers
Tremendous
Evisceration by
Rusty
Swords
Posted on 2009-10-08 at 16:06:14.
Edited on 2009-10-08 at 16:19:00 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: The Day They Woke Up on the Wrong Side of Reality
Subject: Is anyone beginning to get tired of the cast of extremely helpful, cheery NPCs?
Unlike some of my companions, I had relatively few suspicious thoughts about our host’s intentions. Certainly it had crossed my mind that it was strange we had been invited to supper when we hadn’t actually been expecting the chance to gain audience this evening, but other than that, I was trying to make sure I was a gracious guest, and besides, it was very pleasant and peaceful in the shade of the structure, surrounded by the gardens. It was fascinating, really, to see the house of a wealthy person was like in this age. If this was Narnia, Mr. Sakamoto would either demonstrate incredible wisdom and generosity with his wealth, or he would be one of the enemies we defeated in the end of the book. Too bad there was no talking lion to tell us which was which.
Ray took the stage as our group’s representative for Mr. Sakamoto—or rather it would be more accurate to say he had it thrust upon him by the collective silence coming from his friends. He thanked our host for us and accepted the forth coming employment offer.
“But sadly, I must also inform you that me and my accomplice over here” as I bring attention too Ben, “will be leaving in about a week. We have an employer who has a job for us. So if you could, do you have anything that would be extremely temporary and short? I simply do not want to go back on my word to these people, and I so I cannot dedicate too much time to your cause. However, if you are willing, I will gladly undertake more tasks at a later date when I return.” My eye twitched when Ray said ‘me and my’—it didn’t actually bother me, just that I had noticed.
“You prove your honour with your concern for your prior obligations. That is good. Of course, I will not hold your obligations against you and Ben-san.” Presently I had spotted a section of hedge in the garden carved into the snake-like shape of a Chinese Long Dragon. From what I could see of it, it was very well maintained.
"I make it a point to meet personally with anyone I intend to hire," Mr. Sakamoto said, "I find my employees tend to return more often when they have met the man in charge of the operation. Even so, you are fortunate to have come when you did, I am expecting to be too busy to see to anyone shortly."
(room here if you have aught to say)
Distantly, a mumble of thunder sounded, punctuating the brief silence of the supper. How long had it been since we arrived? Half-an-hour? Fifteen minutes? Since we left the Inn? Mr. Sakamoto the rain will be good for the farmers’ crop, this last week hasn’t seen much water and plenty of sun,” he said, conversationally.
Whatever reply might have been building up was diverted as the kimonoed girl who showed us in to the garden appeared at the foot of the gazebo with a half-bow like you see the kids doing in anime. The elder-respecting ones, at least.
“What is it, Suzume?” Mr. Sakamoto asked.
“I apologize for my interruption, Grandfather, but father has just returned from his trip to the temple and he wants to talk to you. He says it’s urgent.” It was funny to hear such a formal tone spoken out of the little girl’s mouth.
“Very well, you may go, Suzume.” Mr. Sakamoto turned to address us as the girl ran back off through the garden. “I must apologize, but you will have to excuse me. I must see to my son.”
He had only been gone a few moments before he returned to his seat at the head of the table, no sign of what had passed on his face. “Now, where were we? I believe it is time to discuss your first assignment.”
(If anyone (by which I mean Ray) wants to say anything to Mr. Sakamoto about what the matter was, feel free to take this time to do so, if anyone wants to say something while we have the advantage of a moment alone, do that also. If anyone just wants to get moving already, post some kind of response to Sakamoto or send me a quick e-mail telling me that you have nothing to say and for me to just get on with it already.)
Posted on 2009-10-08 at 03:49:55.
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Topic: RDI stats
Subject: On liberal application of interpretation
I was once told that the Canadian political spectrum was a about one place to the left of the American spectrum.
to illustrate:
Canadian:
NDP------------------------Liberal---<>---------------------------Conservative
American:
--------------------------Democratic-------------------------------------<>---------------------------------------------------Republican
That's about how it goes, if I remember, but then, it's all relative anyway 
Posted on 2009-10-08 at 01:39:01.
Edited on 2009-10-08 at 01:42:27 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Stare into the Night Q&A
Subject: I might or might not have taken offense to that depending on whether I was paying attention at the t
Hey, I'm not oblivious!
.... most of the time....
Posted on 2009-10-07 at 05:18:57.
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Topic: Q&A: The Day They Woke Up on the Wrong Side of Reality
Subject: Heh, my fault
A pair of essays are being a pain in the ass right now. Once I'm out of the rough as of next week, I can resume work on my post. Actually just today I had a bit of inspiration for the post (though perhaps not enough). Mr. Sakamoto has been waiting to reply to you for somewhere north of a month, I think.
Posted on 2009-10-03 at 06:10:14.
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Topic: Stare into the Night Q&A
Subject: *gush*
I love that movie poster- especially little miss Ellgawen in the middle.
Janelle looks a bit different from what the other picture showed of her, but all's good.
Posted on 2009-10-03 at 00:24:56.
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction: The Clock Tower Q&A
Subject: Some one mention a magic item?
Keep your spear, I'll take the magic helmet.
In other news, I'm in a crunch for a pair of essays, so it might be a little bit of time before I'm free enough to be allowed time to myself. (Those of you in Rera's other WC game may recognize this as one of the leading causes behind Faolan's delay)
Apologies for the delay, I don't want to put it off any longer than necessary, now that we're rolling and exploding again.
Posted on 2009-09-29 at 02:12:45.
Edited on 2009-09-29 at 02:13:27 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Completely off topic help needed
Subject: Because I don't think we're going to actually get something original that beats those two...
1. Complete 1-4 of Yana's instructions.
2. Complete 1-3 of Grugg's instructions.
3. Complete 6 of Yana's instruction.
4. Rinse, lather, repeat step 1 as necessary to bring a new world order.
Posted on 2009-09-23 at 17:26:24.
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction - The Linsemptus
Subject: Critical Hits Hurt, and the Giantess Warrior is No Exception.
When the sword went for her side, Willow knew the price for letting the beast through was going to be pain—a lot of it—and she braced herself for the worst. The sword penetrated the lightweight but steely links of her armour and drove them deep into her abdomen, slicing through tissues and sending white-hot signals to her brain. This pain, however, was bearable, and ultimately not nearly as unnerving as what came with the pain.
As the blade cleared the first inch of her flesh, a terrible force suddenly shook through her body. The only way she could think of describing it later was that it felt as though her spirit had suddenly and violently attempted to part from her body. The growing wound in her abdomen seemed to act like a vacuum, drawing her consciousness out with a nearly inexorable force, with her desperately trying to hold onto her own physical form.
Then, almost as soon as it started, it ended, as the werewolf’s sword left through her side. In reality the ordeal lasted only the instant of a second it took for the sword to tear through her. Willow’s first reaction was sudden fear at how close death had come, breathing down her neck. Almost immediately, the fear vanished, replaced by anger. Anger as a reaction to the pain, anger that she had been frightened for a moment, and most of all, anger at the creature before her.
Willow sucked in a breath and met the werewolf’s gaze. There was no hiding the pain of the blow, but she tried to conceal the lasting impact ebbing away down her side. “I won’t go that easily, bestia,” she growled at it between attacks. She considered the potions in her belt, but dismissed the idea. She prayed silently to ward off infection, knowing full well that a healer-mage fought only a short distance away.
Posted on 2009-09-22 at 03:47:43.
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction - The Clock Tower
Subject: The wooden walls of mankind are no barrier against insanity… so I guess Guin is in already.
Studiously ignoring the growing numbness in her right arm, Guinevere surveyed the dead and still town. It was as if the very breath of the city had ceased and rigor mortis was setting into its streets, while the uncaring breeze gently stirred the air around its colossal corpse—Guin particularly liked that last part, it made the situation feel very dramatic, she thought. Six waylaid train passengers, united by fate to discover what caused the pulse of an entire city to suddenly cease. But these are no ordinary passengers, they are top-notch magicians from around the world, gathered together to deal with this unknown threat to the safety of the world, lead by the strong, courageous, noble, just, and perfectly sane Guinevere MacIntire. It would make a good drama.
She switched her mp3 off, having decided that it wasn’t going to give her anything useful tonight. As a precaution she removed the headphones and put them in her pocket. Besides, there was no sense in letting it read her thoughts when it wasn’t returning the favour.
The breeze stirred up a slight shiver, but she wouldn’t let it show to her fellow cast in this play (in reflection, she would never be sure when it shifted from being a drama). She looked up to the clock tower in the distance, one of the few things that really stuck out in the town. Seeing the hands pointed in the vicinity of eleven o’ clock, she braces herself for the chimes to shatter the totality of the town’s silence. That would have been an eerie sound, which would draw to mind the normalcy of it in an otherwise very abnormal environment, in short, classic. Instead, and perhaps more unsettlingly (for those who got unsettled), it remained entirely silent as the long hand clearly wandered past the twelve. Guinevere got goose bumps from the very slowly building suspense.
The dishevelled swaying sign of The Blue House Hotel caught their attention. H.R. San Diego, who hadn’t mentioned her name yet, began to inspect the building from outside, being unable to see past the boarded up windows. Guinevere, pumped on the adrenaline of the recent encounter and the growing interest in the adventure set out before them, felt absolutely no desire to rest right now, there were clues to find and plot hooks to take. Even still, finding and setting up a base before hand would be a good idea.
Apparently, H.R. San Diego agreed, but seemed to be of the opinion that the window needed redecorating, first. “Looking to find a way in,” Sebastian, murderer of crows, stated, not asked. “No… I’m trying to get OUT,” H.R. said, venomous with sarcasm. Guinevere glanced at Mrs. Wheelchair (who may or may not have said that her name was Carrie) and decided that it would never do to try to limit their base’s entrances to windows, to throw off invaders.
“Well,” she announced, “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m going in.” She strode to the door, conjuring scenarios that might occur upon committing so fateful an act as opening the door. A monster could be lurking in the abandoned building, waiting to pounce on anything that should enter its lair, or perhaps inside lay the first clue of the puzzle, or even the head of this conspiracy used this establishment as a meeting place for their clandestine operation. Or at least that’s what would be in there in a book. Going on these assumptions, Guin decided not to try to prepare for the situation; after all, sometimes the only way to progress was to be a little blunt. She grasped the handle and opened the boarded door wide. Her last thought before the entryway was laid open; What kind of creature nails up the front door but doesn’t barricade it?
Posted on 2009-09-19 at 05:09:50.
Edited on 2009-09-19 at 05:14:35 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction: The Clock Tower Q&A
Subject: A hair our of place
I don't know why, but I just realized that I always associate wheelchair's husband with brown hair, and Kenneth with black. Why I have exactly transplanted their hair colours from one to the other, I can't really say.
Oh, wait, I know: Laptop skillz = Asian = black hair. Damn you stereotypes.
Posted on 2009-09-15 at 17:28:26.
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction - The Clock Tower
Subject: Concerning Strange Types of Apples and Faery Hearts
"Thank-you," said Mrs. Wheelchair when Guin finished patching up the Exploded.
The half-pint blonde with the crescent scar beamed up, "Y’welcome." Judging by the prevailing attitude of the station, not a single person present was at all surprised by magic, which Guin supposed made sense—what would a Normal do when asked to sign his true name, anyway? Spell it very carefully? Which suddenly reminded her.
Guinevere popped to her feet and looked out over the south end of the platform, pulling her hood off as she did. The train was entirely destroyed, pieces littering the unscathed platform. Hmm... Incongruities. The woman with the clipboard; she vanished just before the explosions started, which was just after she made everyone sign the waiver. Suspicious indeed, she thought.
Hard Rock San Diego joined her for a moment, looking out toward the south. Guinevere glanced up at her out of the corner of her eye, as the song on the mp3 changed to a tune of a vastly different genre, a musical adaptation of a poem called The Stolen Child. The possible significance of the song chosen by her empathic mp3 alarmed her as the chorus chanted for the souls of children to leave behind the world of weeping that they cannot understand.
H.R. San Diego turned back and started away, ”I’m heading into town, if I run into anyone on my way, I’ll see about sending help.”
"Don't you go and get the police or anyone of that sort, okay?" Guinevere, who had been taking in the sight of the Tall Dark and Black, saw him suddenly cast a baleful glance at Fidgets. ”"I mean, chances are they already know; those explosions should've woken up the whole town for crying out loud. In any case, what can they do? Maybe put out a couple of fires, but we're in no real condition to need a hospital trip or anything.”
“Why don’t ya just piss yourself, now, and get it over with.” T.D. Black snarled at Fidgets. That was when the idea sparked in Guinevere’s mind. His gruffness and his attitude towards the most openly nervous of the group seemed to fit the bill. She watched him, subtly, as he speculated the condition of the other passengers.
“There’s only us . . . this pack, and the test that the gods have laid before us out there. Whatever that test may be.” He turned to the woman with the dyed red hear and Hard Rock shirt. “It would be wise for none of us to face it alone.” Guinevere nobly rallied, at least in her mind, to his defence. “I think sticking together is a good idea. We should be careful—who knows what plots that blow up trains could do to a lone person?” She mentally kicked herself for that last line. You were supposed to avoid talking about the bad possibilities when advising nervous people.
“There isn’t anything else out here but the town… which is where I am heading. I am not going to stop anyone from doing the same.” H.R. San Diego said. She dug out a flashlight and led the way through the dark and moonless night.
As individuals sooner or later signed on to the consensus of going thataway, Guinevere made sure to bring her no doubt comforting presence to the one who most needed it. She quickly slid up beside him, put up effort to match his pace, and then looked up at Sebastian Crowkiller reassuringly. “Hi, I’m Guinevere. What’s you’re name?”
She was blissfully unaware of the silent war that waged between her own natural likability and Bas’ waning tolerance.
(If you were wondering whether you read that right or not, yes, Guinevere believes that Bas’ attitude is a front. Also, granted that it’s two weeks before the full moon, I’m guessing that it is either New or bears the tiniest sliver, only in the night sky around dusk or dawn. Perhaps we will soon be able to refer to each other by our characters’ names, rather than the nicknames we give them, not that “little rabbit” and “the Strange One” haven’t been fun XD.)
I don't think anyone needs it, but the cast of this post are:
Mrs. Wheelchair, played by the NPC in the wheelchair, Mrs. Firnilm
the Exploded, played by wheelchair's husband, Mr. Firnilm
H.R. San Diego, played by Eve Handle
T.D. Black, played by Sebastian Crowkiller
Fidgets, played by Kenneth/laptop dude
Posted on 2009-09-15 at 16:42:06.
Edited on 2009-09-15 at 16:48:02 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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Topic: Stare into the Night Q&A
Subject: Suspicions!
Is this an elaborately coordinated effort to nag me about being late to post in AoD? XD There's been like 3 decent sized updates since I checked last!
I'm held fast to see how this is going to unfold.
(And yes, once I get home tonight, Guin will have a look at what she's going to do while she follows the rest)
Posted on 2009-09-14 at 18:52:01.
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Topic: RDI Party Game
Subject: XD
Oh wow. That is awesome.
No relation, I take it? I'm pretty sure we would have heard something otherwise >.>
Posted on 2009-09-14 at 03:59:39.
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction: The Clock Tower Q&A
Subject: Heh
Posting here is my next priority! I swear! This game's resurfacing was something I had long hoped for but really didn't expect (and so quickly, too). I'll have Guin pounce on some one soon enough, assuming nothing drastic happens in the near future.
Posted on 2009-09-13 at 05:32:32.
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction: The Clock Tower Q&A
Subject: Without a doubt: with
Oh yeah, Sib is with us . . . you . . . ustedes.
Posted on 2009-09-10 at 21:23:52.
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Topic: Auguries of Destruction - The Linsemptus
Subject: The death of a thousand tiny cuts awaits thee!
When the ground fell shaded and the scout cried in pain, Willow didn’t look up to see what the threat was. She only threw her arms over her head and spurred her mount on, trying to shield it with her back. Drawing her swords, she moved in to bring the giant wolf’s attention to her.
The blow she delivered immediately sealed to the point that it was little more than a long surface wound. While she expected this, it was discouraging to see the edge taken out of her attack.
An impact against her back alerted Willow that the rat she passed had followed her. Unable to watch them both where they stood, Willow leaned to the right of her horse, guiding it to strafe a step in that direction, while she attacked. Her focus remained on the werewolf before her, but she broke off from him for a second to keep the rat behind her from getting cocky.
The only life these brutes seemed to know was dominated by strength, where violence and intimidation were the tools used to satisfy their greed. To that, their life of violence would end by violence, if Willow had to cut them a hundred times before they succumbed to mortality. To that, their judgement for their worldly deeds awaited them.
(5-ft step right, full attack on werewolf, with one attack reserved for trying to deter the rat behind me. Willow will keep attacking the werewolf and saving any AoO for his casting unless the rat provokes one to go back to a flanking position this turn (and thereafter, saving for werewolf). Until the rat is dead, she will use her last attack on him or any others in melee range. All subject to major changes in the flow of battle.)
Posted on 2009-08-31 at 21:35:13.
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Topic: Demonic Vending Machine
Subject: Syntax and Semantics are everything
It spits out a Cow-Boy--a reverse minotaur--and a lasso.
I feed it a handful of pepper, a box of matches, and a fireball.
Posted on 2009-08-31 at 20:36:05.
Edited on 2009-08-31 at 20:37:00 by Sibelius Eos Owm
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