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| − | [ST] Within the strange craft known as the Sunlight, red lights pulse against the darkness. Noxious fumes swirl through bloodstained halls. Lights flicker wildly, strobing across scenes of slaughter. In the reeking darkness, things shuffle, and scream...
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| − | [ST] ... and several floors up, the Once Dead stand around the corpse of Shy Fox. Her blue eyes stare at nothing, and the blood seeping from her midsection to stain the floor is already beginning to dry and clot.
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| − | [ST] "I can't believe you want to go where she came from," Pixie says. Smoke wreathes her head. She's going through her cigarillos at an astonishing rate. Relic fans the smoke away from him, more alert, short chopping blade held in his fist. Soldas leans against the wall, splinted arm cradled against him, pale and sweaty.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal shrugs. "We don't know what we're dealing with, really. I suppose if we go the other way, we'll be worried about them coming up behind us."
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| − | [Iscal] He straightens Shy Fox's limbs, folds her arms across her chest, and pats her cheek. "But perhaps what we should do first is try to find a way to prop the door open."
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| − | [Summer] "There may be more survivors of the Third Scale there. Or we will meet what killed her, but we are five, not one, and should be able to avenge her."
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| − | [ST] ( I mislike the smell of this place) Snowshine says in Summer Sky's ear. (This is no Autumn Hunt, boy. Unless you be the prey.)
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| − | [Summer] He scowls "are you proposing to use the body?"
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks blank. "That's an idea.." he says slowly. He looks at Shy Fox. "I had thought of trying to move that enormous weapon, but poor Shy Fox would be easier to manuevar."
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| − | [Summer] He shakes his head "I wasn't proposing it, I was objecting."
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| − | [ST] "She can't feel anything," Pixie points out. "She's dead."
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| − | [Iscal] "Well, it doesn't matter," Iscal says mildly. "Plenty of corpses in the garden."
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| − | [Iscal] So they all troop back to the garden and painstakingly the great daiklaive together into the doorway. Then they troop back to Shy Fox's corpse.
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| − | [Iscal] "Hungry ghost could be a problem, unless we burn her. Or let whatever it was that killed her devour the flesh, if we trust them to be thorough."
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| − | [Iscal] Sodden as she was from blood loss, though, she didn't look likely to burn.
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| − | [ST] A slightly cooler breeze billows through the hall now, stirring the hair slightly. The garden is already beginning to thaw as well, though, each branch dripping in an accelerated version of a spring thaw. Iscal's action will keep the place cool for a little longer, but probably not much.
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| − | [Summer] He gives the man another somewhat horrified look, hearing chiding for his weakness in his ear. "We should burn her."
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| − | [Iscal] "I hope you have a match, then. I don't."
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| − | [ST] "With what?" Relic says. "One of Pixie's stupid smoke sticks?" She scowls at him. "We need a proper pyre, and we can't have it here."
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| − | [ST] He scratches his mostly bald head, visible now that he has pulled back his hood in the growing warmth. "Ghosts are more apt to complain than a Greenfielder bride, they say, but I think we've done all we can for her."
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| − | [Iscal] He regrets mentioning it. Grim was right. He looks up at Soldas. "Sir. Do we go head to the Quarters, the Nursery, or towards where Shy Fox came from?"
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| − | [ST] "I..." Soldas is still quiet, the drugs having continued to have an effect on him. "I'm not sure. We... don't really know what we're dealing with..."
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| − | [Summer] He shakes his head, but keeps his mouth shut, knowing that they were right.
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| − | [Summer] "Recreation, and we may find out" he says with a tight smile.
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| − | [ST] ( And pick your battles, ) Snowshine cautions, in his vaguely chiding voice. (They are the only allies you have, poor though some may be.)
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| − | [ST] Soldas nods, as convinced as he ever is. "Fine, then. We'll follow her." He laughs, a strained, almost manic sound, and nods at the floor, where speckles of Fox's blood lie. "She even left a trail."
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| − | [Iscal] "Alright. If you have no objection, sir..." He nods his head to Soldas deferentially. "I advise that Summer be in front, then Grim, then Pixie, then you. I will take the rear."
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| − | [ST] "That sounds ideal," Soldas says, trying to sound authoritative. "Let's go."
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| − | [ST] Neither Relic nor Pixie voice dissent, although the latter rolls her eyes at Soldas's command.
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| − | [Summer] Soldas nods, smiling that he had gotten the position of honor in the van. He moves to the door, wrenching it open.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal stands behind, his sword dangling from his fingers. He looks thoughtfully behind him.
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| − | [ST] Water runs down the walls as Summer leads the pack ahead. Relic follows virtually at his elbow, eyes sharp and alert. The old man smells less than pleasant. Pixie follows him, her eyes darting from side to side, with Soldas and Iscal bringing up the rear.
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| − | [ST] The hall is fairly straight and featureless - it would be easy enough to follow if drops of blood didn't mark the way every few steps. Moisture beads up on a number of hanging pictures which slowly shift as the group watches. First, they show an amazing vista of the ocean, then the foot of the Imperial Mountain, then a city of wonder and light unlike anything the mortals have seen before.
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| − | [ST] The voice that spoke earlier sounds again, heavy with barely restrained sobs. "I had no choice. You must understand. I didn't know. My children... I am sorry... I...." There is a discordant shriek, and the voice fades, replaced with soft, soothing music.
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| − | [ST] Pixie reaches out to touch the changing picture. Relic seizes her arm and forcibly yanks her hand back.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal racks his brain as he walks, trying to think of some smalltalk to entertain Soldas with. He is glum when nothing comes to mind, and imagines the silence between them is awkward. He looks often over his shoulder, but little notices what graced the walls.
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| − | [Summer] The halls were too hot here, and they still in theri winter clothing. He pulls back his hood, and removes his cap, the easiest thing he can do to avoid boiling, letting out a dirty mass of haphazard braids, ormnaments, and ribbons. He ocassionally pauses, staring with wonder at the images and wonders around him, but always Relic runs into him, and he moves soon enough to be away from him.
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| − | [Iscal] "She's sorry, had no choice, didn't know, her children..." He translates automatically.
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| − | [ST] At length, another door rises before the party. A mere wave of the hand over the plate opens the door, and the group steps into a large room.
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| − | [ST] The Once Dead stand on a narrow walkway that extends outward. On either side, walls of glass rise to about head height. Behind them is water, clear and cold, slushy with ice that is just now starting to melt. A glance shows that the tanks descend much further below the level of the walkway on the right side. On the left, the tanks are elevated, divided for individual use.
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| − | [ST] Pixie steps closer to one of these and jumps back in alarm as a motor starts up within, filling the enclosure with a jet of bubbles that jostle its still-frozen surface.
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| − | [ST] Near the door on the right, a short flight of stairs leads up to a deck overlooking the larger pool. A few spots of blood shine wetly upon them.
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| − | [Iscal] " I wonder if the monsters semi-aquatic. Like frogs."
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| − | [ST] "Don't see any of 'em around here," Relic says, looking at the strange little pools. "Wonder what the hell all this water's for? I don't see any drinking buckets."
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| − | [Summer] "Bait tanks?" he wonders, staring around him. It seemed like huge recreation of the spring coasts near the ice sea, places which didn't deserve the name as they melted like this. But who would bother?
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| − | [ST] The deck runs the length of the room. Strange furniture like a combination of chair and couch stand in an orderly row. At the far end of the deck, a set of stairs can be seen leading up to a higher level. This chamber seems to be huge - the ceiling may be fifty feet above your heads
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal shrugs, not much caring. "Perhaps we will find out when the monsters eat us. Lead on, Summer."
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| − | [Summer] He nods, slowly, and starts to move forward. THere was nothing for them here, unless it was hiding.
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| − | [ST] As Summer steps up onto the deck, he kicks something there that slides across the floor for a small distance. It's a golden object, resembling the hilt of a sword, made out of some rare and precious alloy the like of which he has never seen before.
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| − | [ST] (Careful with that,) Snowshine cautions. (It is a weapon of the ancients.)
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| − | [Summer] He bends to retrieve it, immediately curious. A weapon as strange as this place had to be worth more than the gold that made it.
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| − | [ST] The hilt is curiously light in Summer's grip, and a little awkward, as if made for a smaller or a more delicate hand than his own. Still, as he grips it, he feels, almost intuitively, a button near where his thumb nestles.
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| − | [Iscal] "You'll need to channel essence to make it work. Unless you're mortal. If you're mortal, it's junk."
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| − | [Summer] He holds it gingerly, looking at it from different sides, and down the hold at its center. The only other weapon he had seen that had a button or something like it was a crossbow, so perhaps this was some form of something similar. He points it at the surface of the nearest pool, holding it only by the hilt, incase the arms moved when it was activated, and pressed the button.
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| − | [ST] No sooner has Iscal spoken than Summer presses the button. There's a sharp crack, and a living tongue of essence extends from the weapon, forming itself into a shimmering golden blade. It casts back light, but no warmth. Aside from an occasional flicker, it seems quite stable.
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| − | [Iscal] "...unless it has a battery." Iscal shifts uneasily.
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| − | [ST] Pixie gives a low whistle of appreciation at the sight of the blade. Relic merely complains. "You can't trust this stuff," he grumbles, shaking his own weapon for emphasis. "Give me good honest steel any day."
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| − | [Summer] His face lights up, from more than the backlight of the thing. He presses th e button again, wondering if it woudl return to normal, or something else even more spectacular. "Perhaps this area was a mock hunting-ground, for sea lions or bears. These women seem rich enough for it."
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| − | [ST] The light from Summer's shimmering weapon casts strange patterns of illumination deep into the pool, which suddenly fade as he presses the button again, and the blade disappears.
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| − | [Iscal] "Hunting ground for people, more like. If these women were rich as they seemed. Stop experimenting, boy. Or I'll tell you the story of how One-Handed Rita earned her name."
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| − | [ST] "Pretty clean for a hunting ground," Relic points out. "But she missed a spot." He points to more of Shy Fox's blood, splattered across a number of chairs jostled out of position near the far end of the deck, where stairs wind upwards.
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| − | [Iscal] "We should go," Iscal says eventually.
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| − | [ST] Soldas nods, casting a suspicious eye at the wide, deep pool. Nothing moves in its depths but submerged chunks of ice, jostled by whatever strange currents move within.
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| − | [Summer] After looking around to see if any other treasures had been left carelessly, he agrees, moving to the stairs in a curved path, to take a closer look at the disturbed and bloodied chairs. Had she been laying here when somethign came upon her?
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| − | [ST] It appears as if the chairs have been jostled at great force, but blood covers the floor and the stairs behind it. Shy Fox was not resting here, but merely upset the furniture in her haste.
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| − | [ST] The stairs hug the walls tightly, covered here and there with more spots of Fox's blood. The staircase terminates in a broad deck that overlooks the pool below. A large panel like a featureless portrait covers the wall behind the Once Dead. The deck is strewn here and there with more chairs and small tables, their glossy tops glowing slightly.
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| − | [Summer] He continues to the stairs, moving up them carefully, both because of the blood over the footing, and because it was hard to see what might be on the stairs above them when they were spiralling.
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| − | [ST] A great splatter of blood covers one of these tables, near the far wall. There, a dark hole gapes. A grating lies crumpled on the floor nearby.
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| − | [Iscal] "They're in the walls..." Iscal laughs shortly.
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| − | [ST] Glancing around the tables, Iscal's glance falls upon a pair of small, crystalline cylinders. They shine faintly with an inner radiance.
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| − | [Summer] Summer leaves the others to look at blood and furniture, picking his way through the chaos of tables and chairs to the torn grate.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal strolls to the table and picks up one of the cylinders. He picks up the cylinder and holds it up to the light."Batteries," he says briefly.
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| − | [Iscal] He slides them into his satchel.
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| − | [ST] Summer stands before the grate. The grate opens on a ventilation system, and is quite large. A human could fit easily. The blood that lies smeared a short distance within indicates that Fox certainly did.
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| − | [ST] The air within the vents is quite warm on his face. Within, it seems utterly dark.
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| − | [Iscal] "Inside, or backtrack?" Iscal glances at Soldas.
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| − | [Summer] He sniffed at the air coming out, seeing if he could tell anything of what lay inside from that. He misliked the darkness beyond, especially darkness housing blood.
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| − | [ST] Pixie strays too near one of the tables, bumping it with her armored rear. It gives a warble and flashes with light, projecting up a transparent model of a gameboard, covered with a variety of strange pieces.
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| − | [ST] "Gateway," Soldas says quietly. He seems not to have noticed Iscal's question.
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| − | [Iscal] "You play?" he asks, bemused. He had, in his school days, a hundred years and another lifetime ago. "Through the vents or do we backtrack, sir?"
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| − | [ST] "Not my idea of recreation," Relic says. "For what it's worth, I say we skip the darkness. Seems like a good way to die, to me."
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal nods. He meets Summer's eyes. "It might be wiser to meet the creatures in open rooms..." And listen for rattlings in the walls, aye.
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| − | [ST] Soldas nods, answering the first question first. "Yes... sometimes. I... what do the rest of you think? The trail may go further, but it's dark in there. I don't think we should all go. Perhaps a scout..."
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| − | [Summer] "Do we have torches, or anything to make light?" Beiseds his new fire-sword. That was a weapon, and light-making was beneath it.
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| − | [ST] Pixie points to the smoking stick in her mouth and shrugs.
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| − | [ST] "You youngsters should learn that you always need to come prepared," Relic says, fumbling in his belt pouch. "I always carry my lantern here... with... me..." He pulls it out, but the triumphant expression on his face dies as he looks at it, crumpled and smashed, dribbling oil like blood.
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| − | [ST] "Guess it broke my fall."
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| − | [ST] "I s-suggest that we withdraw for now," Soldas says. "We may find light sources elsewhere here."
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| − | [Summer] Even Summer nods to that. It was one thing to hunt enemies, it was anotehr to run to them as the hunted.
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| − | [Iscal] "I'll take the rear again," Iscal says quietly. His fingers are tight around the grip of his truncheon now. He would have to keep a close watch behind him.
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| − | [ST] As the Once Dead descend the stairs, nothing stirs from the open grating. The individual pools continue to bubble fitfully. The pictures in the hall outside continue to shift to one pleasant vista after another. The intersection looks as sterile and pristine as it did before, save one difference:
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| − | [ST] Shy Fox's corpse is gone.
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| − | [ST] A pool of stagnant blood is all that marks its position. Relic curses softly at Summer's elbow.
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| − | [Summer] Summer freezes as soon as he enters the chamber, and then moves forward slowly, hunting for a trail of blood or some other indication.
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| − | [ST] (I told you I misliked the smell of this place) Snowshine comments. (You were wise not to enter its walls)
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| − | [Iscal] "I suppose we won't have to worry about burning her."
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| − | [Summer] "We should have, or her corpse wouldn't have . . whatever happened to it. I am sure her spirit would not approve." He finishes lamely.
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| − | [ST] Pixie has gone pale. She coughs lightly, blinking tears away from her blue eyes. "There's no blood... if something ate her, why didn't it just DO it?"
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| − | [Summer] He sees it out of the corner of his eye, from hsi crouch by the pool of blood, looking for scuff marks, or anything indicating where the creature had gone. Nothing on the floors, but it had left a streak along the wall. He moves to it, looking closely, wondering if he would see clawmarks. It didn't look like ti was just a splatter. A feeding arm brushing against the wall, or did the beast itself crawl along it?
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| − | [Iscal] "If they ate her, they're that much less likely to eat us. Limited stomach capacity." He scowls briefly. "Are you suggesting she got up and walked away?"
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| − | [Iscal] It was possible. It didn't feel much like a shadowland, but it was possible.
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| − | [ST] "Maybe it likes to eat in private," Relic suggests. "I do." Soldas gives a strangled little laugh.
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| − | [ST] "After it," he says tightly, coming back to himself. "Same order. To the nursery."
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| − | [Iscal] Maybe it nested in corpses. He glances at Soldas's face, and resolves to keep that thought to himself.
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| − | [Iscal] "Yes sir," he says, dropping back to the rear.
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| − | [ST] The path to the nursery is shorter than that leading to the Recreation area. No more smears of blood appear before the group reaches a door. The hallway continues on ahead, as well, ending in another door.
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| − | [Iscal] "The nearer door is 'Nursery.' The further is 'Refuge.' I think."
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| − | [ST] "S-Shall we clear them as we go?" Soldas suggests.
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| − | [Summer] "Refuge sounds prophetic, maybe it has taken itself there."
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| − | [Iscal] "Nursery's closer." If it were monster-infested, they could run to Refuge.
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| − | [ST] "The nursery," Soldas says, as if convinced by Iscal. "Relic, stay out here and keep watch."
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| − | [Summer] He nods, earlier anger and impulsiveness dampened by the growing fear of a horrible death. He doesn't even try kicking in the nursery door, instead, pushing the panel and staying by the frame for cover and out of the faint hope that a demon inside wouldn't notice the door's whooshing open.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal puts his hand on the plate and steps back warily as the door opened.
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| − | [Summer] Everything else seemed to manage to move stealthily through the doors, he just wished he could.
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| − | [ST] "Yes, sir," Relic grumbles. "I'd like nothing more than to sprain my neck looking both ways every other second." But he obligingly moves to stand clear of the door.
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| − | [ST] The room beyond is different than the others you have been in, and in slightly better repair. The walls shimmer and shift between different pastel colors. Crudely formed figures caper across their surfaces - stick men, stick horses. A glowing stick figure stands atop a mountain, and a legion of stick soldiers raise their spears at him.
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| − | [ST] The room is perhaps thirty feet on a side, and is divided roughly in two. On one side are a number of cribs, silent and empty, mobiles of glittering stars swaying above them gently in the current of warm air that sweeps through the room. The other half is carpeted in bright red, and full of toys of all shapes and sizes, a panopoly to put a merchant prince's child to shame.
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| − | [ST] Blocks stand in stacks. Dolls of all shapes and sizes sit atop dressers and shelves, staring with shiny bead-eyes. A massive stuffed bear, an idiot grin sewn on its face, rises from a mound of smaller dolls in the corner.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks at a doll in a red dress with red hair and a red sword, his mouth twisted. He shakes his head and scans the book titles, running a finger over the top.
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| − | [Summer] He steps into the room, but hesitates in-front of the door. Part of him worried about monsters hidden in piles of plushies, the rest was almost affronted that this place was making him jump at children's toys.
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| − | [Iscal] His fingre bumps into a glass cube. "Alpha is for Airship," it pipes up cheerfully. "Beta is for..." Flicking gliphs appear in the side of the cube. Iscal jumps.
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| − | [Summer] He pushes a pile of dolls off of a dresser, and opens it up, wondering what kind of children lived here, what they might wear. Thick nrotherner's clothes, robes and silks of the empire, who knew what else.
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| − | [ST] "Wow," Pixie says, looking at the spread before her. Quite forgetting the situation, she reaches forward to pick up an articulated metal rhino. It whinnies softly, and writhes in her grip.
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| − | [ST] As he searches, Iscal's fingers brush across another pair of essence batteries, lost among the cubes there.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal glares at the cube, then reluctantly picks it up and - gingerly- puts it in his pocket. If nothing else, he could use it as a distraction.
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| − | [Iscal] He puts the batteries with the others in his satchel.
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| − | [ST] Summer finds clothing sized for children, of silk and finery, and material he has never seen before, that changes colors and emits soft chimes when he touches it. Truly, these are riches undreamt of.
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| − | [ST] The third drawer is strange. It contains a series of rubber masks, their glass eyes dark and smoky, their mouths exaggerated blocks of interwoven cloth.
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| − | [ST] Even Soldas seems a bit taken with the chamber and what it contains. Forgettins his pain for a moment, he kneels, touching a blond haired doll the size of his little finger. She stands, performs a stiff bow, and begins to twirl in place like a dancer.
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| − | [ST] He gives a sidelong glance to see if anyone is watching, then hurriedly scoops up and stows the little thing.
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| − | [Summer] He sifts through the dresses, too bulky to take, and some too loud. One of them catches his eye, shimmering between a pale blue, icy white and occasionally flowing stark red. He rips a strip, somewhat uniform, from its hem, winding it into his hair.
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| − | [ST] (Something is close,) Snowshine warns Summer firmly. (Time later for trophies)
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal glances briefly through one of the children's books. "There's nothing else here-" he begins, perhaps unwisely.
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| − | [Summer] He jumps up, putting a hand up to quiet and still the others, sniffing the air theatrically, as his excuse.
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| − | [Summer] The idea was somewhat spoiled as their tossing of the room had disturbed a number of animals with scented spices hidden inside, making the place smell of long dead flowers and cinnamon.
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| − | [Iscal] "I hear something...a clattering- we should go."
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| − | [Iscal] He heads for the door, his truncheon gripped tight in a sweat-slick hand.
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| − | [Summer] "The wind has stopped. Something must be blocking it" he whispers, looking to the vents.
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| − | [Iscal] "Out the door," Iscal says firmly, pulling Soldas with him.
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| − | [Summer] He retrieves his axe, now no time for fooling with a weapon he didn't understand. That was for desperation.
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| − | [ST] Pixie looks to follow Summer's gaze, even as Soldas rises at Iscal's insistent pulling, and then it happens.
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| − | [Summer] "Lets burn it" he adds, waving at the room and dolls and bedding with his axe. THat would stop whatever it was from bothering them, surely.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Barbarian," Iscal mutters. He reminded him of Red.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The vent near the floor, nestled under a row of cribs, explodes with a sudden blur of motion, as the thing that so recently entered it explodes outward, hurling itself into the room in one vast leap.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As it moves, something like a tendril of hardened muscle flies through the air, smashing the glow panel overhead. It shatters violently, casting the room into a desperate darkness.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Fuck!" Pixie screams, the cigarillo falling from her lips. The ember strikes the floor and bounces away.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "The light sword!" Iscal shrieks, shoving Soldas behind him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The walls are faintly luminous in their motion. The golden stick figure darts across the wall, slashing furiously, his motion throwing out occasional bursts of light. It's difficult to see anything.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Something strange moves through the dark, something vaguely human shaped, but not, shining with metal and glistening flesh. Fleshy tendrils lash through the air.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," Pixie sobs, falling back against the wall. She hates the dark. She hates the dark. Bad things always happen in the dark. She remembers, she remembers, she-
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He flails his axe towards where the thing had been, letting it go midstroke to fly across the room, and darts his hand to his belt, where he had tied the fire-sword hilt.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Hold it together, Pixie," Soldas says, drawing his blade clumsily. His heart thunders wildly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] The axe makes a dismal clatter, hitting nothing but a bedpost before the floor.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] The firesword is blinding bright in his hands, to any eyes but those blessed by Snowshine, god of the blinding light reflected off snow or ice.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Even the light of the blade only casts fitful shadows in the room. The thing moves beyond them, leaping back and forth, a keening wail emerging from its shrouded form. Pixie's nerve breaks, but she doesn't. Gathering herself up, attempting to still her trembling, she leaps forward into the darkness.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Die!" She screams, lashing out wildly with her blade. A crib made of wood that hasn't grown in creation in two thousand years splinters as she hacks away at it. Kicking it aside, she drives forward, lashing at the creature.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] There is the sound of metal striking metal. Lost in swirling shadow, Pixie screams in frustration.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The flickering form of the creature kneels, bracing itself, and then moves without moving - tendrils of flesh seem to flash forward, stabbing at Pixie's face.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie screams in the strobing darkness, staggering back into the stuffed bear. It stirs to life, stuffed arms battering at her softly, distorted voice warbling from its throat. Blood courses down the side of Pixie's face.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Damn it," Soldas all but whimpers, moving to shield her as best he can with his broken arm. He shakes like a leaf in a stiff breeze.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Able to see now, Summer howls as loud as he can, hoping to scare it as it had him, stepping forward to slash clumsily at it with his new weapon. It was so light, even the gold of the hilt weigfhed less than it should, and the weight was all in his hand, nothing along the length of the weapon. So it moved viper quick and not where he wanted it to go.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The lurching creature springs into hellish relief as Summer aims to swing down at it. He catches the gleam of lamellar armor, a series of muscled, wrist-thick tentacles sprouting from a hole in its abdomen, a face twisted and distorted by a fanged mouth - it's Shy Fox... or it used to be.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The blade of light rises up, and slashes down at the creature. A pair of clawed arms rise to deflect the blow, and fail utterly as the blade passes completely through them with a sudden blast of heroic music. The blade scatters and refracts, emerging from the other side of the creature in a burst of sparkling light.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] It is only when the thing roars and steps forward, utterly unharmed, that Summer Sky realizes he holds a toy as worthless in battle as the ones surrounding him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] (Steel is trustworthy) Snowshine offers, sounding awfully laconic about it
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal roars, hurtling himself forward at the creature recklessly. He had followed the arc of the glowing sword and he follows that same arc with his truncheon. It was a clumsy weapon, but stout and reliable.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He curses foully, but holds on to it, unwilling to throw away their light.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Should have burned the bitch after all. Or at least hacked her pieces small enough. Lesson learned.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] The truncheon buries itself solidly against the thing's stomach, sending it staggering backwards. No blood drops from the wound, but the area is slightly..concave.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Pixie, come on," Soldas says. He starts to reach for her, but his broken arm doesn't work. He gasps in pain, and holds back.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Fuck! Off!" Pixie shouts, lurching up from the warbling bear and leaping towards the thing in the wake of Iscal's strike. Her foot strikes one of the cubes, and it flies to smash against the wall. Iscall hears it speak - "M is for Merela, who guides us all" - and then Pixie's blade crashes into it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] A partially severed tendril lashes wildly, smashing into a shelf of books and sending them flying before puncturing the red-dressed doll that Iscal spotted earlier, spitting it neatly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] With a screech, the thing lashes its tentacles forwards, probing for Iscal.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal instinctively raises his truncheon; the tentacle wraps around it and there's a brief struggle as both fight for it, before Shy Fox's tentacle retracts.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Summer hesitates, waiting for the right moment, then leaps into the air, over the horror, switching the torch-sword into his bluckler hand, and coming down by his axe, snatching it up.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He wheels back on the thing, ready now to kill it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal charges again, yelling. Raw terror flows through his blood. He bashes at it- at where he thinks it is, at least - twice. The undulations of its tentacles makes the darkness..ripple.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] There are splattering noises as he bashes at the thing in the dark. A tentacle whips out and wraps around his arm. It feels like a caress. That is when Iscal goes mad- bashing at it again and again, until it has long since ceased moving, until the corpse moves only with the sodden slamming of his truncheon.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal runs out of energy, gasping, and his fingers scrabble at the tentacle around his arm until he peels it off him with a shout of disgust.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The sound goes on for a long time. When Iscal finally stops and his shout fades, the room falls silent, save for the tinkling of an overturned music box.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "What... what the hell was that?" Pixie says. Her voice is raw. Blood has splattered down the front of her armor.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As if on cue, the door hisses open, and Relic steps within, weapon held at the ready. "Carrion Crow! What's going ON in here?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He looks down at the mound of blood and tentacles. "That was Shy-Fox, wasn't it, angry that we had killed her."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's eyes are closed. Pointless in the darkness. He opens them and turns to the door to light. "Waited ..long enough. Too fast to be a zombie...Flesh warm. Or maybe something laid eggs."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He looks thoughtfully at Pixie.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "What are you looking at?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Is... is it bad?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "We are in the nursery." He laughs heartily, though no one else does. He gets to his feet. "Let me look at your face in the light."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] She raises a hand to touch her face, and tears bead up in her eyes. "Well, there goes my popularity with the men..." she says, softly, in a weak jest.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "It can't be that bad," Relic offers. "Two-Bits still had suitors."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Y... yes..." Soldas says, agreeing with Iscal. "Let's leave this place."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He raises the torch-sword, to let Iscal see her face.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He stares, annoyed, at the blade, then risks the tip of a pinky agaisnt it, a finger he could lose. Perhaps the thing had just been immune to something of its wn ship.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal lifts her chin gently as he examines the wound, turning her face to the side to look closely at it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Summer's finger is utterly unharmed. (Not the wisest experiment) Snowshine offers.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal notes that the wound isn't that serious, though it is very ugly. Pixie will bear a scar forever. He spots no eggs or other signs of contamination, although the flesh does look puffy and prone to infection. The creature is filthy.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Wisdom comes with age, and is for old men" he mutters.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Don't knock it, pup," Relic says, with a cough. "Anyway... I didn't see... anything outside."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Speaking of, Scalelord, thanks for the assignment."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal lets go of her chin. "You'll be fine. Ugly, but fine." He smiles kindly at her. "If you get captured by bandits, maybe you'll be raped last."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Of course," Soldas responds weakly, not seeing the joke.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Comforting," Pixie says, softly. "Please fix it."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] (And I am older than any other you have ever known, pup, and my wisdom is for you. So you must listen to it, and cease your foolishness, else I will never make a great man of you.)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] It's her face, so he slaps some foul-smelling ungent on it before he carefully sews it up. A scar was unsightly enough. A wound that got infected would be awful.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He scowls, rubbing at his painfully cold ear. At least the room was warm.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The idea of a refuge is sounding better and better, as Relic points out once the group finds themselves in front of that door. A mere press opens it, revealing not a room, but a staircase that heads upwards.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The hallway, despite the presence of cool air allowed in by Iscal's plan, is growing extremely warm. It could be a day in late spring now, and heavy clothing is becoming stifling.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal keeps his clothes on. They'd freeze to death quick enough otherwise once they left the ship. And he intended to leave the ship.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Summer stops for a moment to tie his heavy cloak back behind his arms. As he mvoes forwards, he unties the bright scraves holding closed his wrists, and resolves to do the same for his ankles, to let air circulate more.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Shall we go up?" Soldas says. His face seems more drawn - perhaps the drugs are wearing off, or the pain is cutting through them. Pixie says nothing, staring silently up the staircase.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Now they stream lazily around his hands as he moves, the cheery yellow on his left wrist only slightly spoiled by blood, and the robin's egg blue on his right untouched, much to his chagrin.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Yes," he takes teh vague question as an order, and begins to climb them.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal keeps a close eye on the stairs below as they climb.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The Once Dead climb the staircase. It's different than the others seen so far, richly carpeted in deep red, warm and inviting, with glowcrystals in the shape of elegant animals scuplted on either side. After five minutes or so of climbing, the Once Dead reach an alcove in the stairway. An orichalcum statue of a woman stands there, grass about her feet. A bird sits on her outstretched finger.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Both grass and bird look... real, but permanently captured, frozen in time. A plaque rests at the base of the statue.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The stairs continue to ascend.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Vanna Lifebringer. Mother."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "No one I've ever heard of," Relic says, reaching out to touch the bird. It doesn't even wobble. "And I've been around a long time."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Me either," Pixie responds several seconds later.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "An Anathema. I imagine she ruled a thousand thousand years ago...and the life she brought crashed this ship. And laid eggs in Shy Fox."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "We should watch for birds then?" he sneers.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "And now it's going to eat us." Iscal sounds vaguely satisfied by this course of events, as though it satisfied a pet theory of his. He raises his eyebrows at Summer. "Don't be a fool," he says after a moment.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He does spare the bird an extra suspicious look. Orichalcum did mean Anathema.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "This doesn't look alive," Soldas says. The blades of grass don't even sway in the exhaust from a nearby vent.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He runs a hand over the grass, far neater, thicker, and greener than any he had ever seen, wondering if this was how it was in warmer climes, when the snow and cold didn't kill it yearly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] It's brittle under Summer's touch, as if it were encased in thin glass. But it is strangely beautiful.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] (Not compared to the sun on snow) Snowshine says. (It only makes you soft)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Doesn't mean it can't kill us," Iscal says stubbornly. He runs his fingers through his tousled brown hair. "Well. Lets go on."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He nods in agreement, to the both of them, and heads up teh stairs.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The Once Dead climb. And climb. And climb. And climb. Ten minutes pass. Twenty. Half an hour. The stairs go on. And on. And on. The Once Dead should be a hundred feet in the air by now.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] (Some devilry) Snowshine offers by way of opinion after a few minutes. (The Solars always worked it with skill)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] It's easy enough for both Summer and Iscal to spot that the staircase that they're climing is an illusion, but it's the keen-eyed Outwall tribesman who spots it first. His eyes focus, and he realizes that the way to progress isn't upward, but... forward.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] He reaches out, turning the crystal fixture nearest him, and the stairs before him tremble and split open, revealing a short passage lit by a bright light.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "They anticipated pursuers?" Iscal murmurs.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] All those steps, and his legs hadn't felt it. He'd known something was wrong, well, something mroe than everything else.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] At the other end of the short passage, Summer can spot another doorway, firmly closed. A panel beside it has been opened, occasionally giving off a fitful spark.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Hell of a refuge," Relic comments. Pixie says nothing, standing at his side and staring into the hall ahead blankly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Something else has been down here, after the owners left or died. They wouldn't have damaged their door like that."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] It's then that Summer notices the dark stain near the floor of the hallway. Blood.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Maybe," Iscal says, leaning forward to poke at the panel.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] And near it, a severed leg, still clad in the remnants of lamellar armor.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He strides to it, and kneels to stick a finger in it, testing its freshness. "At least if it is another of the beasts, its missing a leg."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Relic moves up to kneel by Summer, looking at the leg as well. "I think..." He says, lifting up an edge of the armor. "Yes. That's Olban's mark. This is Once Dead armor."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal turns away from the armor. "Think they tried to get in, or bashed the panel on their way out?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Then I will hope he was just eaten, and will not return corrupted as Shy-Fox did."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie sits down heavily on the staircase outside the hall. Soldas leans against the wall, breathing hard. His nerves are in tatters.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Suddenly, the gentle white light in the hallway burns a vicious red. A transparent door slams down, sealing off the way back to the stairs. Soldas and Pixie dart up, looking through it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He ignores the speculation. "Do you think you can open it?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Reveretev Molascu" a soothing voice says from somewhere above.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Damn it!" Iscal spins around and punches the door uselessly. It was no disrespect to Soldas or Pxie to realize they were the most helpless of the band.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Open," he says in Old Realm. "Safety, Harmony, Trap, Password....Glorious is the God of the Sun..." A dozen random guesses at the password spin off his tongue.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "'Damn it' yozisescu monarsch." The voice says softly. "'Open' yozisecu monarsch." And again, and again. Then the voice babbbles off a long phrase, and there is the discordant blare of an alarm.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] His hands still spread on the door, Iscal looks up at the ceiling and red lights.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He has to move out of the way hastily as Summer comes crashing into the clear door, shoulder first. If it was glass, perfect glass, it could be broken
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's mouth is dry. "I think...I think I just...."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He turns around in dread as Summer rebounds off the door. "Defense measures," he gulps.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He bounces off, falling onto his ass in the blood, and is left there rubbing his aching shoulder with Snowshine berating him in his head.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The door gives not an inch. Summer rebounds painfully, landing on his ass, his shoulder throbbing. Soldas and Pixie pound on it from the opposite side. Just then, there is a keening wail, and something appears on the stairs behind them. Shy Fox, her wounds quite mended, tentacles lashing wildly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "SHe's not dead!" Pixie screams, as she and Soldas fumble for their weapons. The light in the hallway is a pulsing red now. The walls begin to slide back, revealing a glowing red grid of baleful essence on either side.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "We've got to get out of here!" Relic shouts, pulling out his blade to hack at the transparent glass. The weapon bounces off in a series of sparks.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's eyes widen in agony. "No!" he shouts, banging on the door again. Was Soldas to die before his eyes?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Try the walls" he yells, jumping to try to pry at the edge of the steel-glass door, and hammer the metal of the wall around it, hoping for any chance to get it open.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] At the far end of the passage, near the sparking panel, something is happening. Essence crackles between the two walls as some ancient defense gears up.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks wildly around for something. Maybe he could..turn the defense measures against the wall. He runs to the panel, as the only obvious mechanism, and begins pulling on wires.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Summer's desperation is obvious, but all the anger and fury in the world can't budge this door, made by men with the power of the gods themselves to stymie foes far beyond him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As Iscal gears up to race the length of the chamber, the arcing crackles of essence coalesce at about waist height, forming a semisolid beam of crackling energy that spans the length of the chamber. And then, the beam begins to move towards the Once Dead.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Beyond the wall, Soldas and Pixie fall back as the creature approaches, tentacles lashing. It shifts so that it is between the viewers and the others. It's tough to make out much but its distorted, rotting form, its lashing limbs.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Relic sees the beam coming, his eyes shining in its glow. He gets a running start and leaps... just as the beam darts upwards, and then down. He rolls to a stop, screaming shrilly like a wounded animal as his left leg and right arm fall away, lopped off neatly by the cutting blade. The stumps smoke.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "AAAAAAHHHHHHGHGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Summer sees it coming, reflected in the steel-glass door. He jumps settign his feet and hands in the corner of the wall, friction holding him there for just a moment, long enough for him to jump away, back over the waist high beam.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal skitters like a bug across the floor, stumbling over the screaming Relic on his way to the panel. He reaches among the wires and gadgets and frantically tried to make sense of it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "It's been re-wired. I need to do it- again-" His fingers are thick and clumsy.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal works feverishly. He thinks he understands what's been done - a quick piece of work, and clumsy, but in a situation like this, who could blame them. He hurriedly begins to rewire and reconfirm the connections.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Meanwhile, the beam of light finally reaches the far end of the hall, shimmering before the transparent door. It stops, then shimmers for a moment before splitting in two. Slowly, almost lazily, the pair of beams begin to move back, shifting up and down as they come.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] It came to him first, this time, beams of light playing up and down over the background of Shy-Fox's tentacles hitting the glss door, leaving streaks of filth and ichor. He times the movement, and jumps, twisting sideways and laying himself horizontal over the low beam and below the high, landing on an arm and his knees on the otehr side. "Hurry!" he yells, rather unnecessarilly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Relic screams in horror and pain as the beams play over him. He can't even begin to move to avoid them. Uselessly, he throws up his remaining arm, his sheared off fingers toppling into his own face. It is the last thing he sees, as a beam descends and bisects his head.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal keeps glancing over his shoulder as the the beams come. It was hard to focus when he knew- any moment- he could lose his arms, his legs, as horribly as Grim had.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He wonders vaguely if Grim's death is his fault.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] The beams come and he drops into a small, huddled ball on the floor until it passes, then climbs to his feet and returns to the panel.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "It won't DIE!" Pixie screams, from a thousand miles away. "SOLDAS!"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal turns at Pixie's scream, then turns back, cursing himself. If he wanted to help him, he had to finish this. Finish, finish, finish.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal's fingers work frantically, rerouting the circuits. Yes, almost, there! All he needs is a source of essence to fuel the panel now, he's so close! ... and at the far end of the chamber, near Summer Sky, the beams reappear. Three of them now, at uniform height, all but filling the tunnel. They advance, sweeping up and down more rapidly than before.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He freezes as the third pass appears, far too close for what he had tried before. Then his hand darts out, grabbing the still warm body of Relic and pulling it to him. Not that he had seen it before, but perhaps the beams might dull or slow slightly when they cut. He tossed the leaking body at the beams and jumped forward through the same space, traying to keep himself as flat as he could between the beams, and hoping R
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He tossed the leaking body at the beams and jumped forward through the same space, traying to keep himself as flat as he could between the beams, and hoping Relic might give him some scant extra protection.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal glances behind him just as the beams sweep close and flattens himself against the wall. A wild lock of hair is neatly severed and floats gently to the ground as a beam passes right in front of him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] His heart pounds as he returns to the panel. "Damn it," he hisses.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The beams reform as Summer crashes to the ground. Four this time. No. Five. Six. Seven. They form an interlocking grid, completely filling the space of the hallway, moving towards him. Truly, whoever designed this trap was a sadist of the highest order.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] And then, there is a beep from the console in front of Iscal, and the red light vanishes, replaced by a cool blue. The advancing grid of beams flickers and vanishes. The doors at either end of the hallway slide open with a soft hiss.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal throws himself back the way they came, stumbling- again!- over Grim's corpse. As useless dead as alive, he thinks savagely as he takes his truncheon from his belt.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He gasps, and rolls over to his back, feeling a sore spot on hsi ass where the last set of beams had trimmed a small circle of excess flesh off of him. His pants would be drafty if he ever got out of the ship, perhaps to a deadly extent, but now was not the time tocare.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixe and Soldas have their backs to the glass. As it ascends, they both fall back into the hallway. Beyond them, Shy Fox shuffles forward on a pair of broken legs. Great spurs of bone jut from her knees and elbows. Her hands end in grasping, bony claws a foot long. Gore splatters her body. Her three tentacles, tipped with bony spurs and now quite restored, lash at the air.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] THen he remembers the others as their screams intrude on the sudden semiquiet - lack of humming death anyway. He jumps to hsi feet, retrieving his axe, and looks to the reopened passage.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Run!" Iscal shouts, pulling Soldas to his feet by his collar and yanking him towards the other door.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Soldas and Pixie were in no state to fight, in their hearts at least, and in body in Soldas' case. "Run, get through the door" he yells to them, moving to the side to let them past.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal runs forward past Pixie and Soldas, his truncheon whistling downwards to smack Shy Fox on her head.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He had to give them a little breather.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal's strike hits Shy Fox in the side of her head, cracking her skull audibly, and knocking her neck out of alignment. This appears not to bother her much. She coils and then springs at him, her tendrils stabbing downward towards his face.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The barbed tendril nicks the back of Iscal's hand, parting the flesh there neatly. The wound burns.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal hisses through his teeth, cradling his hand. He almost wished it had been his face. His hand was useful to him. His face...Ragged Redhad never been caught.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie and Soldas need no encouragement, fleeing rapidly for the safety of the other doorway. Pixie stumbles over the corpse of Relic on the way. Looking down, covered in his blood, she takes a moment to realize what she's looking at. When she does, she retches and staggers to her feet again, fleeing onward.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Iscal flashes past him, the first to the monster, damn the man. That honor taken, he waits for him to set into it, to see which way he could get at it in the narrow corridor. Shy Fox forces him slightly to the right, and Summer darts into the opening to the left, shouldering hikm to the side slightly, and slashing down viciously with his axe at the tentacles flying at Iscal.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] His first cut severs both tentacles that it had been reaching with, and his second stroke cuts it's third off at the base. His third stroke comes in as it reels backwards, a strong overhand stroke, splitting it from shoulder to the opposite hip, leaving Shy Fox in one and two thirds, seperate.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] She scream-hisses with what air she has left, and he sets to the overdue work fo cutting her into smaller, hopefully more harmless, pieces.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As Summer chops, he realizes that Shy Fox's insides don't look... well... normal. They're full of writhing tissue like bundles of gelatinous worms, things that draw away from the light and his blade.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He pauses in his work, and retrives his torch-sword. If they didn't like light, then perhaps it had a use after all. Clearly they were the things that needed destroying.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal lowers his truncheon, panting. "Eggs," he says with satisfaction. He limps to Grim's corpse and returns with the shattered oil lamp. "Dump the oil on them," he suggests.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Worms, evil worms, like maggots they probably are created by dead flesh in this evil place."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He nods, and steps back, letting the other man deal with the corpse. He was right. Who knew if the worms might be able to knit the body, or pieces of it, back together to come after them again.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal regards him with irritation, shoving the lamp at him. "You do it," he says bluntly. "I have to fix this."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] When Summer grasps the lamp, he turns away and stitches up his hand quickly. He could have done both, but some on some obscure impulse, he wanted Summer to do the dirty job.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] When Summer returns to the corpse, he sees that it is already beginning, albeit slowly, to reknit itself.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He takes the lamp, and sloshes oil on the three time corpse liberally. "Pixie" he calls over his shoulder, "I need a light."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The worms extend and join with each other, and slowly, a hand is taking form, and the beginnings of an arm.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks on in revolted fascination.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie takes a while to arrive. She is pale, bruise-colored circles under her eyes. She's looking a bit like Soldas. "Is... is it dead?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] She gags a little at the sight of the thing trying to reform. Elsewhere, a foot is taking shape, and the beginnings of a face. This is fast.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie's hands are shaking as she ignites a cigarillo. She takes a moment, puffing it for a second for comfort, before handing it off to Summer.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He uses his axe to scoot pieces of the thing closer together, so that it would all burn together, and then steps back, tossing the cigarillo on the heap of flesh.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "There are twenty four people in the Third Scale," Soldas says hollowly, stepping up to view the shuddering thing. "There were over two hundred people aboard the Trout Queen. How many of them did we see outside? How... how many of them did we see OUTSIDE?" His voice trembles.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He watches the oil catch fire for a moment, and then reaches for his belt, to retrieve a paper charm and a scrap of dried bison, to give in honor of Snowshine. He tosses them into the pyre, hoping no one would notice or comment, and mutters a short dedication under his breath. "To the honor of Snowshine, may he bless my eyes and mind as he has my family for generations." He can feel the god crouching in his head, approv
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He would ahve to find some wood to carve a victory charm later, perhaps a bedpost from the nursery if they ever returned to it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal grips his shoulder in a gesture that is meant to be comforting. "It doesn't matter. There are enough in here to kill us." A pause. "If we aren't careful," he adds awkwardly, as he would have for no one else.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] (A good kill) Snowshoe says in approval. (But a foul beast. They will be hunting you.)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The flame catches, and the pieces shriek and sizzle, casting up a foul black smoke. Shy Fox's face has reformed - she glares balefully as her eyebrows scorch away, mouth working soundlessly without vocal chords or lungs to drive its howls.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "We killed this one easily enough, three times. Its the ship that we must content with." He carefully doesn't look at Relic's body, close enough to the burning heap of Shy Fox, and spattered by enough of the oil, that at least parts of him would catch.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The creature burns well, and quickly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "But now the oil is gone," Pixie says softly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Most of it anyway, theres certainly not enough left to burn more than one more. Perhaps we should stay near that shaft, and just throw them down it."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I want to go home," Pixie says, hollowly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "We found out what happend to the Third Scale."Iscal prods a bit of goo back towards the fire with his foot. "Mission accomplished."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "This may not have happened to all of them" he hesitates before continuing "though I do expect these worm will grow on any dead flesh we leave them."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I just..." Soldas is breathing heavily. "I'd... if we could rest for a bit, perhaps we'd think of something."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal hesitates. "A little further. Then we will rest."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He shakes his head. "This fire will put off bad smoke, we shouldn't stay near it." He thrusts his still bloody axehead into the flames, letting them play over the hard steel, hoping to burn away any corruption left by the blood.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Some place defensible."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "That hallway looks defensible," Pixie ventures, her voice thick. "Just ask Relic."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal laughs, like she had made a real joke. "Lets go through. See what's through the other door."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He grimaces at the ill humor. "And you want to stay here incase those lights come back? You didn't have to stand before them." Or to feed your comrade's corpse to them. He clenches his fist at his side, shaking slightly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "If we go beyond them, maybe we can..." Pixie slumps slightly. "Rest."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Exactly," Iscal says placidly, giving her a little push. Death could be very soothing, he agreed.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He hovers beside Soldas until the man walks after Pixie.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He is the last of them through the door, finally turning his back on the Fourth Dead's pyre and leaving her to her rest, if she could get any now.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The room beyond the hallway is well appointed and tasteful, if full of riches unlike anything still extant in Creation. A fine lounge is located on the far side of the room, slowly shifting in colors. A low, flat table has a number of books and figurines unlike anything the group has seen before. Images shimmer on the walls. Mounted above the lounge is a daiklave, easily as tall as a man and
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] half as wide, its starmetal surface gleaming with designs.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] A door in the far wall leads deeper within the refuge.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "We can rest here," Iscal ventures testing the softness of a sofa.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] After the scene of horror behind them, it was inviting. Perhaps the defenses of the room had steimied the previous Scale, and would defend them. He wanders to the displayed weapon, wondering what could possibly have wielded it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Can you reset the door's defenses?" he asks Iscal.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The door leading to the hallway hisses shut and locks decisively, sealing off the passage beyond. It is slightly cooler here in the refuge, but the heat that has been building up inside since the vent shut has begun to increase. The sofa is very soft, the weapon impossibly sharp and heavy.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "No need," Iscal offers, sinking into the sofa. "Gods," he moans.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He stands to offer the space to Soldas, and goes to root among the figurines.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He nods tiredly, and flops into an overstuffed chair, dirtying it beyond measure with soot and blood.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Soldas sinks into the surface of the sofa, exhaustion striking him like a physical blow. Pixie leans against the side of it, curling up into a ball and closing her eyes.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal picks something up off the mantle and brings it up to eye-level. He shakes it slightly, before realizing that would be unwise. If it were, for example, an exploding potion.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] It looked like it was meant to be an ointment from the way it sloshes in the bottle. Medicine of a sort? He tucks it into his satchel with the rest.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He paces around the room, examining book titles and small curious objects. He selects one for reading material- as the others seem disposed to leave him on watch- and settles on the air of the sofa Soldas slept on.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] After a short time resting, he gets a bit restless. He gets up, and hacks off the leg of one of the unused chairs, a rich ret soot-grained wood, not noticing the looks of annoyance on everyone elses face as he distrubed their rest. It would make for a good victory charm, of the monster he had defeated.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal finds himself looking through an illustrated version of Bio-Thaumaturgical Wonders of the First Age. He flips past winged people, snakes with feathers, Beetles whose carapaces can spell out words when they array themselves on the walls of a manse... Some of the designs are noted as being that of Vanna Lifebringer, but most of the text is quite beyond his understanding.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] As he reads, Iscal's hand thoughtlessly drifts downward to stroke Soldas's hair. He flips through the book searching for something that sounded related to whatever Shy Fox had become.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Soldas, sleeping deeply, does not seem to stir. Iscal uncovers little on the thing outside - the creatures in the book are only beautiful, doubtless the final results after hundreds of flawed prototypes were destroyed. Such was the power of the demons in the ancient times.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As the Once Dead rest, soothing music begins to play overhead, interrupted once more by the voice. "...I'm sorry. My children. I had no choice. I am sorry..."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He closes the book and leaves the sofa, selecting a handful of other books and sliding them into his satchel, which was becoming uncomfortably full. He glares at the speaker.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie snores softly. She has fallen asleep where she sits.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Summer," he says quietly to the man carving the fetish. "I'm going to check out the other room. Watch them, will you?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He glances up and nods. "Scream pretty if you find anything" he grins.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's mouth falls into a tight line. He jerks his head in a nod and goes to the other room. Whoosh goes the door.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal opens the door without difficulty, and finds himself standing at the bottom of a tall, circular chamber. Bookshelves line the walls on eitherside of him, stuffed full. A richly appointed bed is just ahead. A staircase winds upwards to a second level. The far wall is entirely made of something like glass, beyond which the ice stretches, murky and unbroken.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Maybe they could break the wall..Burn through the ice. His mouth waters involuntarily at all those books. He takes the stairs, greedily eyeing the stuffed bookshelves as he climbs.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As Iscal climbs the stairs, he hears a voice speaking from above. A woman. Pained. Apologetic. "...I'm sorry. My children. I had no choice. I am sorry..."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Everyone that message had been meant for was dead. Foolish Anathema. He wonderedif she had left notes of her experiments.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal steps up onto the second floor. It's a lot to take in.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] A large terminal marks one wall, an empty seat poised before it. Across from it is a smaller desk, and a chair. A figure sits in the chair behind the desk. A woman, withered and mummified by age. One skeletal hand holds an archaic weapon, its barrel lost in her mouth.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal goes to her side and gently takes the weapon away from her.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] This close, Iscal is able to recognize her features. It's Vanna Lifebringer. The weapon itself is something like a flame piece, although much finer in construction. Its short barrel terminates in a grip and a cylinder which rolls out to reveal the ammunition loaded within. Four shots.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He tapes her gently on the side and watches as she topples, fragments of ancient cloth shivering around the skeleton. He examines the weapon, then with a shrug slides it into his satchel, in a gesutre that is becoming almost habitual. He shifts it to his other shoulder to relieve the weight.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal also notices, at this distance, the gaping hole in the back of Vanna's skull and the dried patina of ancient brain matter on the wall.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Suddenly, a blue crystal on the desktop lights up and begins to shimmer. It speaks. "I'm sorry. My children. I had no choice. I am sorry..."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal rolls his eyes and moves to the terminal. First task: shut off that bloody message.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal sits at the terminal, pressing a button here or there. He is an educated man, but this far outstrips his skill. As he works, a screen in front of him lights up, projecting an image of a craft nearly a mile in length, shaped like some exotic fish. SUNLIGHT appears brightly next to it, and he can read the various labels pointing out the decks. Of more notice, however, are a series of
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] red warning messages flashing to one side.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] WARNING: RESERVE POWER ACTIVATED
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] WARNING: HULL BREACH LEVEL ONE - STARBOARD SIDE
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] WARNING: STARBOARD ENGINE DISABLED
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] WARNING: AIR CONTAMINATION ON DECK TWO
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] WARNING: AIR CONTAMINATION ON DECK ONE
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] WARNING: TEMPERATURE ABNORMALITIES
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] WARNING: CAUSALITY SHIELD DAMAGED
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As well as about a dozen others he doesn't at all understand
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Causality shield? Surely he couldn't have read that right. He tries to manipulate the image to turn it into a map.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Greetings," a voice announces brightly. On the display in front of Iscal, a tiny figure rezzes out of a collection of pixels, resolving into the smiling outline of a young girl's face. "I am SESIIS. May I grant you assistance?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Yes please. I would like to access a..picture of the ship that...shows where to go."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] His oral Old Realm is slow and halting. In Great Forks, the spirits spoke Riverspeak like everyone else.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Where do you wish to go?" The figure's image shifts into a tiny full-body representation, tucking its hands behind its back.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Out!"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I'm afraid the ship is in quarantine mode due to a breach in Deck Two," SESIIS says, shaking her tiny head. "It cannot be unsealed until the quarantine is ended."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "How do I end the quarantine?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "That would require entering an administrator's password at the control center on the bridge, but..." She throws her tiny arms out. "I'm afraid that wouldn't work either, as the bridge is not receiving enough power. The starboard engine has been disabled and the ship is now on emergency reserves."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal swallows. They would need to get the password, enable the engine, enter it, and the monster-worms would all get loose.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "How did the other newcomers enter the ship?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I do not know. I am only a limited intelligence. I am limited to diagnostic study only." The figure turns a maddening little twirl.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Are the...food preparers working/"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Approximately 242 days ago, a collision on the starboard side flooded part of deck one. The resulting flood triggered the craft's ballast tanks, but it struck an obstruction above and became mired again. Sixty four days ago, the main door was bypassed and entered a number of times. Thirty days ago, the door was again bypassed. Thirty days ago, the quarantine procedures were activated. One
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] week ago, dorsal vent #2 was forcibly opened by override from the bridge."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Food preparers have been disabled for 4,231 days. However, the hydroponic farms on deck three appear to be operating without mishap."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "When did Vanna...what was the last control entered into the ship before 242 days ago?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Approximately 665,000 days ago."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Can you make...pictures that show you where to go...on piece of paper?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I do not have that ability. I function from every terminal on the ship, however, should you need assistance."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Lovely," he mutters. "Indicate where the terminals are with purple lights."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Purple lights appear sprinkled around the ship. It looks like there are at least a few on every deck, although this is the only one on the fourth deck. A few are dark and silent, especially on decks one and two.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Show location and status of ...containment unit."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Where they kept the maggots until the quarantine was activated. What activated quarantine?" he tries.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Laboratories are located on level two. A rupture in vat #23458 activated the quarantine. Laboratories are 75% functional."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He was willing to bet it was Samson's fault. Samson was clumsy. "What were the last three commands entered 665,000 days ago? Do you have access to Vanna's logs?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Gas was vented into all decks. Ship public address system engaged. Ship placed in standby mode." SESIIS shakes her head to the second question.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I do not know. I am only a limited intelligence. I am limited to diagnostic study only." The figure turns a maddening little twirl.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] A chill runs through Iscal. There things in this ship that a first age Solar- the maggot's creator- couldn't handle. Maybe they should kill themselves now. He could do Soldas before he woke up.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He thumbs the hilt of his truncheon, and sighs as he realizes Summer would stop him. He seemed the type. There was no helping it, then. Iscal abandons the terminal for the moment to root through Vanna's desk.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He had not given up on a diary...or notes...a last confession.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As Iscal struggles to open the desk, he only succeeds in activating it. Another holographic display springs up, although this one is badly corrupted. There are a number of selections to be made, but the text is garbled and strange. Perhaps they are diary entries.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal selects the first one.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Vanna's voice begins to speak, haltingly, frequently mangled. An image of her appears, youthful as she appeared in the picture. She speaks briefly of her time as ruler of Dalarski, wherever that is. The misunderstandings that followed her, the failure of even her peers to appreciate her Transcendant Bridge amulets... she speaks of exile, and her closest followers, her children, and the Sunlight...
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The log entry ends.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He selects the next, going through each methodically as they end.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The next is hopelessly corrupt, and the next, and the next. Finally, another springs up, heavily distorted. "They deserve it," Vanna says. "For casting me out. Even here... children... and I... can hear the ......*fzzt*.... seas are burning. Cities are burning. The time of the Solars is *fzzzzt* ... safe here. Shielded from the traitorous *fzt*erals, hidden from their prying eyes."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The next few are scratchy, full of little but static and the occasional flash of motion, a snatched phrase "...ungrateful", Iscal hears, and "boredom" and "interesting" and "punishment."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] And the next:
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "*ffzzt* KVO are fascinating... cling to life as tenaciously as *ffzzzt* worst of the troublemakers. Will soon *ffzzzt* The image clears up for a minute. Vanna's eyes are crazed, her face sallow, her hair lank. Strange scrawlings and formula in something wet and dripping cover the bulkhead behind her.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] ONe entry remains, and is one of the least corrupted. Vanna's face appears again, but her eyes are clearer now. Her voice is steady, as if rigidly controlled.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I could not control the Krebs Organisms. They multiplied out of control. Overran the decks, killed even the good children. No... *fzzt* am I saying? They were all good. I am mad. I.. *fzzt* right to kill us. I have sealed the organisms for good. I killed them with the purifying gas. May this be their tomb for eternity. May it be mine as well." She raises the weapon to her mouth, tears
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] running down her face, and the image flickers out.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] END OF ENTRIES
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] You hear someone trudging up the stairs rather loudly. Summer soon appears.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Pixie woke up. I left her on watch, drawing on Soldas with some charcoal" he pauses, seeing the scene. "What the hell is that?" he asks, pointing to the dessicated corpse.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Doing what?" Iscals says with irritation. He would deal with her later. "That's Venna. This was her ship. She intended to kill them with 'purifying gas.' I wonder what went wrong."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He returns to the terminal. "I found this as well." He types carefully, trying to bring up the SESIIS. "Where are the 'Transcendent Bridge Amulets,' and how much gas remains in the gas ..reserves?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I do not know. I am only a limited intelligence. I am limited to diagnostic study only." SESIIS springs up, giving an apologetic shrug.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Is that some god of the ship?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] If they could bring this ship under the control of the Haslanti...It would mean nothing if they had to kill any survivors of the Third Scale. They'd die anyway, and quite a feather in their commander's cap, as well.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Atmospheric systems report considerable stress. Poison gas is being produced on the lower two decks. In approximately two days the system will no longer be able to cope with this production."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He joins the other man, standing behind his shoulder. He sighs, seeing everything was in gibberish. "Do you speak Skytongue?" he asks the ship-spirit.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "No. Too stupid. When did poison gas production begin? As part of 'quarantine procedures'? Why has it not penetrated the other levels?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I am SEmi-Sentient Intelligent Interface System," the tiny figure answers, in Skytongue. "I am a class four limited artificial intelligence, legal under provision 44 of Meru law 33-A. I communicate in thirty languages." The accent is strange, but understandable.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] With an audible click, the figure switches back to Old Realm. "Gas readings first began to spike approximately fifty days ago. Gas production has been limited to decks two and one. Scrubbers are functioning, but unable to clear the contamination. Their efforts have kept the other decks contaminant free."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Huh. Whats that? Hey, can you make the rest of the ship speak Skytongue too?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I cannot. I am only a limited intelligence. I am limited to diagnostic study only." SESIIS twirls again.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Is there a malfunction in the scrubbers, or is the contamination too..overwhelming?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Scrubbers appear to be functioning at full capacity. Life support is a priority system even on emergency reserves."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] After a few moments, a thought comes to Iscal. He looks at Summer. "I told you to watch them," he sighs, and runs down the stairs.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal races down the stairs, pelting across the darkened bedchamber as fast as he can. And then, he trips over something and goes sprawling face down on the floor.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] He has tripped over something jutting out from under the bed. Something that rises, hissing strangely, standing between him and the murky light from outside, a vague human figure.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] It giggles softly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Summer jogs after him, and reaches the head of the stairs when he hears Iscal fall. "They'll be fine" he calls down.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Monster!" Iscal calls, scrambing away on his ass.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The figure shuffles forward, raising massive, distorted arms. Iscal catches a glimpse of sickly pale flesh.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He grabs his truncheon and smashes at its legs even as he scramble to climb to his feet.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He sits it solidly on the shoulder, though not cleanly. It rocks back on its heels . "Summer! Kill it!" he shouts, hopping backward.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal's truncheon slams home on the thing with a deep crack. It staggers sideways, moaning softly as if in pleasure, swaying, its movements far from human.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The thing reels back, fumbling for Iscal, its arms reaching as if to embrace him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Summer thunders down the stairs, slipping out his axe and shield. He'd kill it as soon as he could reach it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Iscal feels firm limbs lock around him. Warm, rubbery flesh caresses his cheek. The thing is leaning closer - he sees red lips, white skin. It's almost as if it wishes to kiss him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal screams. He thinks of Ragged Red, and he screams, and screams, and screams.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Finally he reaches the bottom of the stairs, and continues his run, charging right into the thing, cutting viciously down at the arm holding Iscal most securely.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Summer's vicious chopping severs the thing's arm. It falls away from Iscal, spraying his face with sizzling ichor. The other slashes continue into the body of the creature, rocking it back and forth, hacking deep with a strange, *heavy* sound.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal pulls himself frantically away, wiping at his face with his coat.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Ohhhhh," the thing moans, its voice syrupy, thick, distorted. The force of the blows propel it closer to Iscal. Milky fluid slops from its mouth, and it gives a sound like an electronic scream. "Ohhhh, Mistress," it moans. "You're hurting me. You're hurting me. You'rehurtingmeyou'rehurtingmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-*" It trails off with a screech, falling to the carpet, kicking as smoke
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] rises from it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] No commotion comes from the other room. These doors are thick.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "What was that thing saying?" he asks. More than ever, he realized that if Iscal died, they would probably all die with him. He found it ratehr galling.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's stomach revolts, and he vomits over the corpse of the thing.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "It was saying...." he wipes at his face. "It doesn't matter what it was saying. Nothing. Gods. Nothing..Just..don't tell anyone about this."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Sparks continue to arc up along the broken automata's back. Chunks of ragged metal and wiring sprout from its synthetic flesh.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He staggers to the door, stops to empty the contents of his stomach again, and then through.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Soldas sleeps, as deeply as ever, his face unmarred by charcoal. The conflict in the chamber beyond doesn't seem to have bothered him at all. If Iscal had screamed for help during his exploration, it's likely none of them would have heard him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie is nowhere to be seen.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks at Soldas for a moment, then prowls around the room. Surely she would not be foolish enough to LEAVE...
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie curls in the corner, compressed into a tight little ball, shivering heavily.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal squats down beside her and rubs her back gently. "Pixie..." he says softly. "It's alright. You're safe."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He takes her hand, checking for signs of infection.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I can't stand it, Iscal. I can't, I can't... we-we're..." Tears slide down her face. Her hand is warm and dry. She's burning up. "I'm c-c-c-cold."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "We're not going to die," he says softly. "We're going to get out, I promise." He didn't want to give her his coat- the infection might spread if he needed it later- so he turns his head and calls to Summer, "Pixie needs a coat. Something warm."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Here, have some of this." He gives her a teaspoon of a draught to fight infection.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Why did you join the Once Dead?" Pixie asks softly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He was surprised she didn't know the story. Maybe the 'comrades' who rescued him had more decency than he thought. "Same as anyone. I didn't have a choice. I was captured by bandits. They...made me help them. When Soldas brought down the bandits, it was join or be executed."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] It seemed so easy said that way. It occurs to him that he had the glowing liquid; she was fevered already, and wounded. It would be best to test it on her. She was most expendable.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "What about you?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "But... you could've died. Maybe that would've been better. Maybe..." She smiles weakly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Maybe," he agrees easily.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I was a slave. I don't remember my parents. I was sold to a lot of people... I finally stabbed one and ran away. I had no profession, no skills... it was do this, or become a whore." She laughs.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I should've been a whore."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I should've..."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Even with the rates of disease being what they are in the brothels, you would live longer," Iscal nods. "Not so different from being a slave, of course. Not that, or this."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He roots around his bag and brings out a glowing vial. "I'll give you a drop of this. It might help." He puts a drop on her tongue. "It's very precious stuff," he tells her comfortingly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He steps over, far more quietly than he normally move, handing down a thick skin and furn coat, with only a bit of main reinforcing areas.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "What is it," he asks quietly, curious.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal helps wrap her in the cloak as she swallows. "A medicine," Iscal answers. He hoped it was, at least.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie shivers for a moment, then suddenly convulses, bending almost double. "Gods," she moans. "It hurts... it... like a stone in my belly. It...."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Fuck," he whispers as she shudders. He backs away, leaning her against the wall. "Fuck. Damn."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Crap..." he roots through his bag and pulls out an herb. He all but stuff it down her throat.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] It was a purgative, and it makes her vomit, still clutching her stomach.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie trembles, gagging on the herb Iscal hastily administers. A stone the size of a robin's egg pops out of her mouth and bounces across the floor.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "There. All better." He pats her back. He supposed now he should hope she didn't survive the mission.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I just want them to stop," Pixie sobs quietly. Soldas sleeps on, oblivious. "I just want them to stop."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "You want who to stop?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie lurches away from him, staggering to her feet. "The voices," she whispers. "I hear them. I hear them in my head. They tell me..."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "What the hell caused this? Is it a bezoar?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "The bezoar is just a bezoar. No. The slash on her face." He had hoped it wouldn't come to that. "What do they tell you, Pixie?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] In an undertone, he says to Summer, "You have the oil stilll, don't you?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "They tell me... to.... tear... to... die... to... kill..." Pixie's hand trembles as she draws her chopping sword, swaying unsteadily on her feet.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "They tell me... they need... flesh...."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He puts a hand on his axe, over his shoulder. "We have a bit of the oil left. Might be I want to save it for the both of you, if its coming to this. Have you cheked your hand recently?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "No...shhhh....Come here, sweetling..." he holds his arms out to her. He frowns at Summer. "I'm not infected," he hisses in an undertone. "Take her from behind!"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He scowled, but could see the truth as plain as Iscal could. He stepped closer behind the woman, whisper quiet when he wanted to be. But he hesitated lifting the axe. They had fought together. She wasn't slashing tentacles at them, she wasn't beyond hope, surely.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie raises her sword, and slashes it... across her own neck. A gout of blood sprouts as she tumbles lifeless to teh carpet.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Soldas stirs behind the group, clumsily sitting up. "Wh...What?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Or that. Quick, spray her with oil."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He crouches down and rummages until he takes out her pack of cigarillos. "Stay there, sir. Unfortunately..that is...Pixie succumbed to her wounds. We need to remedy any contamination."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Suddenly, Pixie's corpse stirs sharply, darting unnaturally to its feet. From the horrendous wound in her neck, a single tentacle emerges, wet and dripping, lashing wildly in the air. It must have been there for hours, inside, growing.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He jumped back, startled by the suddenness of it. His axe comes crashing down, instinctually, before he even had a moment to think about it. Not that he would have chosen different.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Shit." Iscal slams his truncheon into her stomach. He had hoped to destroy her before Soldas was fully roused.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] At least it didn't matter that he'd used her as a guinea pig.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] A solid blow. She gasps up another robin's egg-sized stone.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The thing that was Pixie staggers back, shaking its head as if to jostle something lose. Flesh tears wetly, and Pixie's head slumps heavily to one side, connected by only a thin tendril of flesh. The clutching tentacle weaves back and forth for a moment before narrowing towards Summer, seeking his flesh.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The bony tip punches through his breastplate, but stops short, scraping against his flesh but not breaking it before it withdraws.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Gah. Don't push it at me" he yells at Iscal as he stumbles back from the Pixie-zombie-thing. Somehow, the sight of her attacking him backwards was even more alien than the tentacles.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He slashes his axe down, trying to finish what Pixie herself had started, and remove her head. He aimed his backstroke at her knees.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He cuts through ehr neck, perhaps too neatly, not doing much but throwing her head across the room. It would ahve been far more damaging if he had just aimed the same stroke at the center of her neck and cut into her torso. His backstroke struck slightly high, cutting deeply into her leg, and cracking her thigh-bone. But he coudl see the worms knitting it and holding the leg steady as soon as he drew the sharp blade out
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Soldas staggers up from his brief rest, hand darting to the hilt of his blade. He's shaking too much to draw it out as he retreats, standing up, almost falling backwards over the back of the sofa.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal spins his truncheon savagely into Pixie-thing's side, mindful of Summer's warning.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] There are grotesque ..squishing noises as his truncheon collapses her chest cavity.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "The oil, quick!"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] Summer's ace comes slashing in from the other side.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] The two weapons almost meet in the middle, but Summer's axe doesn't strike quite so deeply, although it carves a wider hole.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie falls to the ground hacked nearly in pieces, still thrashing. Red, wormlike things bubble up around the edges of the wounds the pair have carved in her skin, hastily reknitting flesh.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Oil," Iscal pants again.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Soldas gags, cringing against the far wall.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He runs to the thing he had left by his chair, grabs the oil, and darts back, hoping they could burn her before she rose again.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's hands shake as he lights one of her cigarillos. "We're lucky for her bad habit," he remarks, dropping the lit cigarillo down once the oil is spread.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He grimaces, watching the oil catch. "Thats the last of it." He pauses for a moment. "You sure your hand feels fine? I say we cut it off, burn it now, so we don't have to do worse later." He stares cold at Iscal.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Pixie screams, a keening, bubbling noise, her flesh sizzling away. She thrashes weakly, but the vitality is already leaving the things that drive her.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He starts, jumping back at the ragged, piercing, noise. Thats right, the last one handn't had lungs at this point.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "If I'm infected, I'm infected, whether I have a hand or not." Iscal says cooly. "My heart would pump it wherever it needed to go. And consider...if I'm infected, how will you work the devices? You need me."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Soldas has been awoken in perhaps the worst way. He speaks slowly. "In... infection? It can spread to the living?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He backs away from the shriveling mess. "Yes. Blood-to-blood, most like. It got Pixie."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He gestures an axe at the burning body. "So it seems."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "You are uninfected?" Soldas asks, haunted eyes darting between the two. "B-both of you?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "I'll be watching. But you're right, we need you to get out of here. So lets go. No more resting, we need to leave as fast as we can." Fast enough that if you only have hours left, we're out on the ice first.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Not a scratch yet. He says he's fine."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "We're uninfected, sir" Iscal assures him.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Yes," Soldas says. He nods, as if reassuring himself, and stands a little taller. "Well... what's the best way to get out of here?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He doesn't mention the patch cut off his ass, that didn't count. And he hadn't yet noticed the tiny scratch on his chest that the probing tentacle had left. He wouldn't mention it when he did, either.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal frowns. "That..is the question. If we can get the starboard engine working again...get to the bridge...and enter the password, we can turn off the quarantine."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] He hesitates. "Of course, then they might get loose."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "Quarantine? You mean thats whats stopping it from opening the hatches?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Yes...someone opened the hatch we came in through a week ago. It can be done."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "We don't have to worry about them getting off the ship. They won't survive out on the ice" he declares, with foolish confidence.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] "So, lets go do that. How do we do it?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Who?" Soldas says. He seems to have regained some strength. "And... and how? We should do it."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "An anathema, is my guess." He shrugs. "If we intend to do that, we need to power the bridge- the anathema used an override."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "We should go to the bridge and get directions," Iscal adds reluctantly, making no move in that direction.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Yes," Soldas says. "Let us depart. Summer, you will lead. Iscal, the rear." He, of course, would be safe between them.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "Yes, sir."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Summer] He nods. "Know where that is from here?" He is already moving to the door. He wasn't going to be locked down here forever without being able to userstand anything enough to be able to get out. And so he wasn't going to let his one guide die of the infection before they could get out.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Iscal] "I remember." There were enough terminals, anyway, if he forgot.
| |
