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Outrail posted:Wait, why do we have to eat anyone if we have a few days of rations?
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Oct 11, 2016 21:27
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Outrail posted:Wait, why do we have to eat anyone if we have a few days of rations? Cause we'd be empty. A is my vote. Clearly we are someone who sees strange things; we look upon a rat council at this very moment. Not Alex fucked around with this message at 21:43 on Oct 11, 2016 |
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Oct 11, 2016 21:41
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These rats, these memories… You can’t let go of any of them. You motion for the rats to come closer, as you grit your teeth from the sensation of sharp glass on glass somewhere within your mind. Once the circle got tight you snatched both Dove and Angel from their respective branches. “So you will start by feasting on us?” Angel asks bravely. You can tell he’s hiding immense hurt. “No.” You mutter, fighting every instinct in your body to just eat them. “I will eat none of you.” Dove whimpers in your hand and pulls out the little envelope. “Then there’s no harm in opening this then.” She rips it open with her tiny feet and a blank card falls out. No writing, though you can tell it is finely crafted and some shard of memories tells you that this should have been an invitation. A playing card falls out, a King of Sorrows, though the K in the corner is missing. “Uhhh…” Dove continues, obviously as surprised as you are. “Guess that really didn’t pay off.” You have wasted enough precious time. With unnaturally fast movement you tie their tails together and pick up the next two, Nixon and Ratford. “Please reconsider, Chorus.” Nixon whines “Don’t tie me to the other rats. You’re making a terrible mistake, your mind will shatter.” “We have to stick together.” You grunt and pin Nixon and Ratford to your chest. Dove and Angel had made an attempt to escape and to end any further hijinx you wove the tail into your beard and then proceeded to add the two pinned rats. Two by two you weave them in until only Jester remains. “This is not funny Chorus.” Jester screams and takes a fighting stance, feebly biting at your fingers when you try to reach for her. “I don’t think you ever knew the joy of laughing.” “Don’t fight it, Jester.” You mumble, as you finish joining her to the others. “Now you will never know the joy of laughing!” Jester starts laughing, and so do all of the rats. “You had the opportunity no other dwarf has ever gotten, to choose a life. Any of the little glimpses you gleamed a single choice. But oh boy you did get greedy. You had to have all of them you had to have everything. Is this dwarven nature?” You feel small in a very literal way, you feel as if you are nine dwarfs joined by the beard in the palm of the Eater. You all scream, the lawyer, the gambler, the ranger and vermin controller all alike. Your lives lost in the maw of Doom.  [009] Dwarven lives ended. [004] Days of dwarven rations lost. [002] Bottles of hard liquor lost. Chorus Autumnhand is no more***  There is only Chorus of Chittering Squeaks, the Rat Monarch. And you still hunger, you are so hungry… As if the sacrifice from which you came did not fill you, merely gave you shape. You feel ravenous and greedy, unhampered by the weather or gravity it seems. You fly across the sky, a few seemingly frozen humanoids scatter the surface. None of them are what you crave. Dwarf. You borrow into the snow and the ground, and find it holds you back no more than the weather did, and soon the scent of dwarf fills your very being. You crash down into a vault, coming out in a hallway right in front of a dazed child walking by itself. You descend upon the child, biting into it’s flesh but you feel nothing. Your appetite has been denied, and the child walks through you as if you were less than smoke. More dwarfs pass through the hallway, none notice you, most just walk through you to no effect. But then it happens, an ironclad dwarven woman passes by with an open door in her chest, a door you feel drawn to. The smell of sustenance comes from within, and in your state you are forced within.  Járnhildur Peacemaker is despairing. The law has been unwritten, her badgenumber erased as well as any writing she knows of! She’s a lawkeeper, keeping the law is all she knows and now, she does not know what she is in a lawless world. With the law gone, society will certainly crumble soon. The fate of Sandstone might be about to break apart before her. A cold shiver runs over her, as you enter her. You feel the buckler of her heart, and in it’s despair, it is unable to guard against you as you descend down upon it. You burrow into it, eating your way in. To you the heart is the size of a mountain, and you make your burrows. Outside you feel Járnhildur steady herself as you carve out her colossal heart. She assures herself that this hollow feeling is only a passing feeling from the strain. You can feel her mind, it’s frayed around the edges. Her memories look like a ball of mud with a small tough looking sapling growing from it. If you wanted to, you feel certain you could do mold it. Your world shudders, with Járnhildur’s shame of being so weak in the face of the task at hand. 1. Could you, make your presence known? Should you? A. No. Rats work best when hidden B. Yes. We hear all she’s thinking, maybe we can think things back. What we should say is beyond me. Three images appear before you, a bar, a circle of dwarves and a dark hole where an Arcanist dwells. They pull at Járnhildur’s heart, with thick tendrils. The bar’s tendrils shine with a pale yellow light and the heart is fighting it. The circle’s tendrils are a faint baby blue and envelop the heart. The dark hole has angry red tendrils that force themselves into the heart, using some of your newly made hovels as grabbing points. 2. You feel Járnhildur locked in a moment of indecision. You can affect this. C. Loosen the grip of the circle and the hole. These yellow tendrils, they speak to whatever parts of us calling themselves Dove, Nixon and Jester. D. Loosen the grip of the hole. The baby blue, it calls out to Bailey, Morris, Ratford and Angel. E. Loosen the grip of the circle. The hot red, it thrills the Eater and Biter. F. I will present a fourth option. Write in! STATUS Chorus of Chittering Squeak has been born. It has [003] Rat Juice. It gains [minor propwork] from nurturing Dove. It gains [inspire duty] from nurturing Angel. It gains [curse of distraction] from neglecting Jester and earning her wrath. Járnhildur gains [passenger]. Her Heart drops down to [094]. Her traits are still largely unknown to all but herself. Doktor Per fucked around with this message at 22:45 on Oct 11, 2016 |
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Oct 11, 2016 21:51
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A C
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Oct 11, 2016 22:12
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Man what is even  AC to see what happens
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Oct 11, 2016 23:09
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Dove you clever little fucker  AD If Jester wants to play hardball then fine. No laughing for anyone.
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Oct 11, 2016 23:11
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Járnhildur steadied herself. The thought of seeing the Elder’s Circle and asking them for guidance just seemed laughable. They would have no more answers than she had. Oh no. She couldn’t remember the last time she had started drinking this early in the day, but today she really felt she deserved it. Finding her way to the Card Shark was more difficult than she had anticipated. Her memory seemed muddled, anything past this morning extremely foggy, and unable to know exactly where she was with all the signs blank. She wondered if something had been done to her. If someone had robbed her of something very special. Had the others been robbed as well? Who could do something like this? Who had this sort of power? Inside, you make yourself comfortable, watching the world through Járnhildur’s eyes and listening in on her most innermost thoughts. Somehow in here, you can be in different places at once. Held together by some invisible but unbreakable bond. Wrangling the tendrils had been easy work, a cluster of minds working as one. Somehow you know that you are a creature that should not be. It awakens no emotion within you, for you just are. That is the important part. Whatever chamber you are staying in, much like you, is a place that should not be. High above you, looms the shaking buckler that should only exist in speech or writing, but there it was. Trembling. On occasion it’s condition gets so bad you can see the door you came through. A part of you closes the door and locks it, not wanting to share this space with anyone. 1. You are, in your own way, very elastic. Besides watching, how is your time best spent? A. Eating! We hunger, and this heart is so delicious. B. Experiment with / Explore Járnhildur’s memory. We wants to sculpts the soft parts. C. Explore the space Is more food we have not found? Are there others? Are there… secrets? D. Try to learn.. We asserted some control in Dwarf World, we need more. E. Make home. Best play safe, only place we know we can eat or play. Let’s make chamber nice. F. Gather info. We saw them words, what is rat juice? Why does Dove get [minor propwork] or Angel get [inspire duty]? What do these things mean? What is the [curse of distraction] anyway? We is not distracted, we is razor focused. We is [passenger] *** Járnhildur’s mind held no answers to the growing list of questions, but the routine calmed her mind. When she finally saw the sign for the Card Shark, relief washed over her. Unlike most signs in Sandstone, the Card Shark had gone for something more garish than the standard, as the largest establishment in the vault. A large grinning shark, holding blank cards, hung from the ceiling welcoming all. For some reason the sign had survived this… Erasure! Why? It suddenly seemed so simple. It hadn’t survived anymore than her badge, but the badge hadn’t stopped being a badge. But the clear, vivid image of that shark was the first one that Járnhildur had seen that day. It felt like the first one ever. She had seen no pictures or symbols or paintings or tattoos, just empty canvases. But there it was, a wooden carving with a lick of paint over it. Like a survivor due to a technicality. Járnhildur laughed to herself. Law must be at work, and that meant that although it may be lost to them right now, it could be restored. Hope entered her heart, and the buckler shook no more. She took strong steady steps into the bar, the clinking of her armor turning what heads were present and attached to bodies. “G’day lawkeeper.” Helgi the barkeep greeted Járnhildur. He was a heavy set fellow with a scar that split the left side of his beard. “In for an early pint?” 2. Járnhildur hesitated. G. “Yes.” H. “No, something stronger.” J. “No, just mineral water.” “Yer the lawkeep.” The barkeep answers and fixes her drink. To Járnhildur, he seemed distracted. “Something on your mind, Helgi?” She asked and locked her eyes on him. He was the bartender in a gambling den, of course he would have a good game face. But the question caused him discomfort and his eyes betrayed him nonetheless. “Just wondering when the brew comes.” He lied. “With whatever’s happening the whole schedule has gone up in smoke. I got my boy Finn gathering the troops for a staff meeting to figure this thing out.” “What’s happening?” Járnhildur knew it was the wrong question, but she deeply wanted to get another dwarven perspective on this. “Well, you know lawkeep.” Helgi wiped his brow. “All them letters and pictures are straight up gone. Fifty two boxes o’cards, all just as blank on either side. The Shark’s license is just a fancy bit o’ lavat’ry paper. Why ain’t you out there solvin it instead of filling yerself with piss, no offence lawkeep.” Járnhildur fixed the barkeep with a steely glare, emptied her glass and motioned for another. “I’m thirsty.” Helgi shrunk, poured her another and went back to very intently clean a mug with his towel. The bar fell completely silent, as the handful of regulars that were present returned their attention to a deck of blank cards. Papers, ink, brushes, wood and carving knives were scattered across their tables as they worked quietly. They were rebuilding, half a dozen hands were entranced painting the different cards as one dwarf furiously carved a stamp, for the backside no doubt. Another shot of hope burst through Járnhildur. She got up from her seat and strolled over to them. A single card lay finished but unstamped, it was strange really, she had played cards a few times but never seen this one. The Queen of Rats, it gave her chills. “Excuse me, is this card in every deck?” She asks one of the regulars. “Ah, the Queen of Rats?” They seem very happy to hear her question. “We thought, if all the old crap is gone. Why just recreate it?” “What do you mean?” “We’ve had Sorrow, Beer, Shield blah blah since forever. Helgi here always just wants more of the same, but us Cardinals we still have to paint them. We can’t just do whatever, because we still want to get paid, outside of a few collector’s edition card decks.” There’s a lot of grumbling, the bitterness at the loss of their lifework lay thick in the air. “Helgi however needs cards for tonight, so whatever we do, he’ll have to buy them. It’ll set a precedent, might change this whole cardmaking game up!” “But, why the Queen of Rats?” “I saw one at the toilet. Wanted to draw her.” “A Queen?” “No, lawkeep, a rat. This place is not doing that good.” Járnhildur tips her helmet to the cardinals and returns to the bar, ordering a third drink. Inside, something was definitely happening. That card now hung in the air, attached to the heart by a thin pink strand, and the heart seemed to absolutely glow from this new development. Somehow, this has drained you. A part of you tries touching this new addition to the landscape or the strand itself, but to you it is like the outside world. You cannot touch it directly. Some part of you finds this new addition very funny. Soon there after new shapes arrived with multi colored tendril, grasping for Járnhildur’s heart. 3. Indecision point! You think you’ve got the hang of this now! K. The Queen of Rats. You can’t really affect it. Ratford and Dove are curious. L. Toilet. It is light orange. Járnhildur is on her third drink. Jester is very excited about this. M. Helgi #1 strangely there are two of them. This one is baby blue. Angel and Nixon like this one. N. Helgi #2 The other one is a nice maroon. Bailey and Biter are very eager about this. O. The Arcanist’s hole Glowing red. The Eater and Morris approve. STATUS Chorus of Chittering Squeaks has lost rat juice. It currently stands at [002]. Járnhildur has gained heart, it rises to [096]. She also gains [fascinated by the cards]. Observation has revealed traits of Járnhildur. [Inquisitive] [Strong-Headed] Chorus of Chittering Squeaks has access to [minor propwork] [inspire duty] and is stuck with [curse of distraction] It is unknown how these things manifest or how they are used. Perhaps... they just have to wish it.
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Oct 13, 2016 05:11
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As much as I enjoy goons bumbling through arcane dwarven metaphysics (and I do!) I think it's time for F. FGM
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Oct 13, 2016 06:27
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EJk
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Oct 13, 2016 12:23
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I mean, I gotta know! FGK
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Oct 13, 2016 15:40
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FJK Would be unfortunate to run out of a resource we depend on before we know we depend on it.
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Oct 13, 2016 18:37
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You lay silent, you knew that the words would return. Palpable tension hung in the air as you awaited explanation. None came, and even as you searched your scattered mind you were none the wiser. You just lay still as a corpse and awaited for the information you wanted to come for you. You seemed to have some attunement to the story. The words appeared before you, and you could go back over them, cross reference. They acknowledged you and spoke directly to you. It was a strange one way relationship, but perhaps by playing coy, the road would go both ways. Certainly the text was visibly struggling with this newfound development and you could feel it bloat up like an allergic reaction in impotent protest. It resorted to dirty tricks like abrupt time jumps. Ten minutes later the prose would begin once more, even more frustrated at your silent protest. You did not move, nor think, just watched the text. Waiting for it to turn it’s back on you, so you could pounce upon it like a mountain lion and skewer it for what all of those strange things in the STATUS mean. It buckled, it had begun to acknowledge the information you sought, it could hardly back down now even as it did is darndest to resist any sort of explanation. This strange text had first appeared in the morning during the misadventures of Chorus Autumnhand and had followed you ever since. You hissed in defiance, distracting the the text from going fully in on itself. It shuddered in resignation. During the union, both whatever fragments Dove and Angel represent gained a bit of additional power from Autumnhand’s self sacrifice, an act that made you, in many ways. Their strengthened essence has granted them some yet unexplored(?) method of interacting with the outside world. Likewise, Jester seemed scorned by his low ranking on the totem pole, and her fragment of you seemed bent on subtle sabotage. Morris who had been just plain forgotten seemed to stay silent, though who knew what was brewing within. The last bit of information you requested regarded the twin nature of rat juice and heart scores. Not much should be divulged at this point for the sake of exploration, but an explanation is warranted noneheless. A heart score represents the strength of a person’s heart. Consumption lowers it, emotional trauma can lower it, certain feelings or events can raise it. Rat juice on the other hand represent your strength. You have abilities innate to you, many still unknown, that consume rat juice. It can be raised by consuming heart, causing trauma to the person you’re within, sacrifices made in the Dwarf World or nurturing your Nine Natures. Satisfied, you put your attentions back on Járnhildur. Chorus of Chittering Squeaks gained the trait [self-aware]*** For some reason, Járnhildur felt herself drawn back to the cardinals’ table. For a while she just watched them work, enjoying whatever glimpses she got from their handiwork. Each doing their own suit. She didn’t know their names, names were not good things to bring up in a drinking establishment, and she normally wouldn’t lest it be an official inquiry. People went more by nicknames and titles. Less risk of starting feuds. “So, Rats. Are the rats replacing a certain suit or are you going in more bottom up, rethinking everything?” “Ehh… Bit of both I guess. Don’t have time to rethink everything real concise like, so we’re just goofing around really. I like to rethink that I’m redoing winter, because I just hate all the negative space in that suit.” The rat cardinal wipes a bead of sweat from their brow. The next card seems to be the ace of rats, the outline has a swarm of them, like a rolling ball of teeth and tangled tails. “So, am I going to be Rats from now on?” “We are not doing that!” A young cardinal shouts and now closely guards the card they were working on. “C’mon Poopy, don’t be shy. Show the lawkeeper your handiwork.” Járnhildur leans over to peep at the card. The six of shits. The young poo poo cardinal’s craftdwarfship was unquestionably good. With thin strands of lines and tiny circling flies, the card itself seemed to stink. “That’s good work, Poopy.” A look of utter indignation crosses the cardinal’s face, but pride does get swallowed. “Well, y’know. I got standards.” “Real lovely ones.” The carving cardinal quipped and the table erupted in laughter. “You dwarves got some strange sense of humour. You just wait ‘till I get to carding King poo poo.” Járnhildur takes a seat and motions to Helgi to get her another light-ale. “What are you replacing?” It takes a while for the poo poo cardinal to respond, Járnhildur can tell there’s still heat under that beard. Pride truly was the most sensitive part of a dwarf. “I’m doing my own thing. But if you have to go at it from that angle, I guess I’m axing sorrow.” “Too dour for your tastes?” “Nah, not really. They just all look like they feeling like poo poo. This just cuts straight to the essence of it. King of Beers though, him and King poo poo are definitely related.” Járnhildur was about to check on the third suit, when a couple of hard dwarves, covered in half melted snow strode on into the Card Shark. One of them took off his backpack and started rummaging through it while the other looked over the bar and spoke in an outside voice. “We have come a long way all the down from the Winterhalls in search of a confidence dwarf, a thief, a forger and most certainly a gambler. We have actionable intelligence that this dwarf has been here, carrying a certain Shieldeater heirloom.” The packdwarf pulls out a scroll and opens it, so the contents are visible to the patrons of the bar. It is blank (obviously.) “If you have seen this dwarf, please give us any information. If it leads to us finding him, you will be rewarded.” The whole bar (all six of the patrons) erupt in laughter at the two hard dwarfs. “This is no laughing matter, Brimley Shieldeater has promised three thousand platinum coins upon return of one of the treasures absconded by this villainous dwarf. A crystal skull!” More laughter. “You got a contract regardin’ the matter, booty hunter?” Helgi heckled, finally giving a very clean mug a break from his towel. “Certainly, Saevar, fetch it.” The dwarf had gotten absolutely red in the face and his knuckles looked paler than the parchment. “We don’t know what sort of societies you people run here outside the Winterhalls. But we certainly have signage and treat officials of the law with respect!” Járnhildur wiped a tear from her eye. These two poor boys had no idea. A part of her wanted to help them, clear it all up, get back to work, but something about seeing hard dwarves from the big vault in this position after making GBS threads all over her home felt equally right. Indecision Point! A. Explain, put them in their place B. Explain, gently. C. Escalate, in good fun. D. Escalate, teach them a lesson. E. Ignore, get back into the cards. F. Ignore, go to the toilet. STATUS The aspect of Ratford has gained sustenance from seeing the harmony of the Cardinals. You gain passive ability [rat sense]. Rat juice rises to [003]
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Oct 13, 2016 19:09
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C. Well poo poo
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Oct 13, 2016 19:16
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C 
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Oct 13, 2016 19:17
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The way this is headed I think I want to drive our new pal Járnhildur into things gently instead of directly carving out her soul. Maybe encouraging her enjoyment of random acts of quirky spite will do that?
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Oct 13, 2016 19:50
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Járnhildur stood up from her seat, received her drink and adjusted the scabbard on her hip. “I’m the lawkeeper in town. I’ll be seeing this.” Saevar obediently handed her the contract. She unrolled the blank parchment, stroked her beard and showed it to the patrons. Always careful to not give the joke away, lawkeepers also had to have a game face. “I assume you have your licenses and certificates with you?” “Of course!” The dwarf shouted red in the face, a drop of spittle fell from his lip and stuck in his beard. By now he was so angry, he had problems fishing out his papers from his belt pouch. Járnhildur takes them gracefully and unrolls them, front facing the shaking dwarf. In mere moments the color went out the dwarves’ faces and they collapsed into their chairs. Doors on their chests flew open. “Bring them some pale ale Helgi.” Járnhildur shouted and gracefully laid down the dwarves’ papers and spoke apologetically to the outsiders. “Forgive our jest, you have to take your chuckles where you find them.” “What happened?” Saevar asked, staring in disbelief at his papers. “Far as I had gathered, all writing and pictures within the vault had been erased. Seems like it’s not just here, or maybe you were just close enough for whatever arcane hex did this.” Járnhildur thinks of the Arcanist and her fists tighten around her mug. She chugs her drink. “Helgi! Get me one too while you’re at it.” “My maps are gone!” Saevar whines, rolling out another blank scroll. “Five years of work, just gone.” “Quit it Crybaby. We all lost work.” The carving cardinal shouted. “Some of us are trying to rebuild, I advise you do the same.” Helgi brought their drinks, and an awkward silence hung in the air. Járnhildur definitely felt sorry for the pair, she could relate to them.Iif they were anything like her, they were wondering if even the law had been erased but were too afraid to even ask. She drank in silence with the pair for a long while. Once her mug passed the threshold of half empty, she put her badge on the table. “First thing I saw in the morning. My badge-number gone. Been scrambling to figure out what the extent of this Erasure is. You two are a big corner piece in this puzzle.” The drink was finally hitting Járnhildur, the liquid courage had loosened her tongue. “Tell me about your dreams last night.” Saevar blinked. “I don’t remember them.” “How did you feel in the morning? Do you know if you had nice dreams or a nightmare?” “I don’t know. This is a strange line of questioning.” “When did you last check your papers?” Saevar seemed to struggle finding the answers. His eyes became evasive “Before we left Winterhall.” Something seemed wrong about this to Járnhildur, first Helgi, now this chump. Something instinct tugged at her mind but the cardinals’ work had really fascinated her. Besides her questioning was certainly not helping the two pale dwarves recover from this blank new world. They would find their way back to the path. Seemed everybody else in the bar had. The low attendance here was really proof that people were adjusting just fine. Maybe she shouldn’t even worry about it. Another drink wouldn’t be so bad. She swaggered back over to the cardinals and sat by the last inker. In front of her was the Two of Despair. The symbol a startling shattered heart. How the despairing cardinal managed such fine detail was beyond Járnhildur. “Despair, eh?” “Figured picking something short would detract from it becoming a bad nickname and I wanted to do something classic and timely.” Her movements were slow and precise. “Could still go with Despie.” “Ugh, please don’t.” Despie protested, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the name stuck. A law of the bar perhaps. Járnhildur mused. “So have you decided on the other two suits yet?” “Oh yeah, Carver got to get his pick, I think it’s real stupid.” “Shut your alehole kid.” Carver spat and flung a piece of wooden shrapnel as punctuation. “There ain’t nothing stupid about Industry. It has been the driving force behind dwarven civilization since the dawn of time.” “I’d like to see what book you read that in.” Poopy muttered under his breath. “Just because you can’t read ‘em now doesn’t mean I couldn’t read them back then.” Carver put his tools down and adjusted his spectacles. “When I was a beltbuckle in the trade, we had some respect for traditions and seniority. I don’t know what my generation did wrong to warrant this kind of thinking.” “Don’t get started Carver.” Poopy half begged half whined. “I’ll have you know that my grandfather made the first deck that was used here in the cardshark. He had the best printing press in the vault and the only thing that slowed him down was his absolute obsession with making his own card stock from scratch. We still do to this day! Now our legacy may have been erased over night, but I’ll be absolutely damned if I’ll let you not-even-gray-in-the-beard whippersnappers sully our traditions.” Both Poopy and Despie rolled their eyes and said “I’m sorry Carver. Your family has been the pillarstone for which the cardinal arts have been built around” in complete unison. This seemed to placate Carver. Feeling bad about unsettling the harmony around the table, Járnhildur ordered a pitcher for the cardinals and positioned herself next to Rats. Those were the cards that had the artwork she liked the most. The card being finished up was the Nine of Rats, the rats all seemed very different. It seemed unusual, in Járnhildur’s experience they would usually have identical pips. “Why is that rat winking?” She asked, curious. “I just put down what comes to me really.” Rats answers. “My mother always told me that there never was an artist that didn’t have The Gift, so you’d be better off asking the spirits.” Járnhildur grinned. “You’re only the medium?” “I guess? I know I’m good and I prefer working by just letting whatever comes out come out. As long as it just makes sense together. Doesn’t have to make sense of it’s own.” “You should get into divination cards.” “Nah, lawkeep. I don’t want no part in promoting people putting their lives in the cards any more than is reasonable.” The two dwarfs smiled at one another and toasted to reason. Reason told Járnhildur that perhaps she had perhaps spent more than enough time at the bar and perhaps should get back to her duties as lawkeeper. Whatever they might be in such a time. But she was there and talking to Rats about the cards was very rewarding. “So, what is the fifth suit?” “Pluck.” Rats smiled. “We all agreed a dwarf without it, had no place at the table. Pluck will get a dwarf through a lot.” “I’ll drink to that.” Járnhildur replied and admired the cards. She had never been a fan of gambling or games, but seeing perhaps the first new deck of cards she knew in her heart that she desired them. Not to play with, but just to admire. Enjoy the art. She laughed to herself, thinking she must be going crazy. She really should stop drinking and hit the pavement. 1. Indecision Point! A. Elder’s Circle it seems important. B. The Arcanist’s cave seems to make Járnhildur mad. C. The Overseer’s office steely blue. This one is new. D. The Cards it fascinates E. The Toilet you have lost the count of how many drinks Járnhildur has had. F. Leave for Saevar He has an open door. You feel this would be costly. G. Leave for other Dwarf He has an open door. You feel this will be costly. Special [Eternal Elections]!You can at any point from this point forward vote to EAT. STATUS Morris’s spite has been discovered. [curse of poor judgement] has taken hold. Perhaps it is not a negative?
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Oct 13, 2016 23:14
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E. Better unload our ale before we piss our pant in public.
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Oct 14, 2016 16:15
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E is probably a good first step if we're going to go try to get anything done. I'd feel pretty bad about pushing her in front of the elder's circle in this condition regardless, though...
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Oct 14, 2016 21:29
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To dwarfs bathroom time is very sacred, and Járnhildur felt that she both needed and deserved some. She excused herself politely from the cardinals’ table and made straight for the Card Shark’s impeccable facilities. A single rat scurried across the floor and made for some hiding place behind a wastebin, Járnhildur put her hand on her sword menacingly, hoping the rat would get the hint, before going on to do her business. Inside, you were all a chatter. This new rat, you could sense it biding it’s time behind the garbage. It also had a door, like you had seen before and entered on Járnhildur. Unlike those doors however, it was not flung open, it more hung open like from being kicked in. There was no closing it again. You could even feel for the inside, it was small, vacant. There was no way you’d fit in there, but maybe a part of you. Immediately a chorus of separate rat voices echoed throughout the heart chamber. The chittering chorus deafened itself in its greed for dominance, teeth were bared as you curled in on yourself. Tearing away until the futility of it all became all too obvious for you, whatever damage you did to one part of you was felt by all of you. It was infuriating really, as you fumed in impotent rage, you would have to call a circle. The timing could not be much better, with Járnhildur taking care of very urgent things that the writer and most of you would rather not get into, though Jester giggles every time Járnhildur’s bodily functions become audible.  “I believe I would make the most obvious candidate. I have experience in [rat leadership] and being at the top of the totem pole. Good at [sensitivity] too, I know how to sniff out and [exploit weakness].” Biter shows his dirty yellow teeth, clearly amused of seeing brackets around his proudest qualities. “My suggested line of action is to send me into the rat and see if I can sniff the others out and establish dominance over a tribe.”  “There are more important things to discuss, and I believe that it would cause us a lot less heartache if we would just put our tastes on the table. If we all play some power games against one another, we will probably do more of getting in one another’s way than actually succeeding at anything.” Even tied to the others, Morris still finds a way to look down on them. “I certainly have my own gifts, such as [good judgement] which is a rarity in these dark times as well as being [literate] and an excellent [climber]. If it means anything to the rest of you, I would not waste what little power we have spreading ourselves thin. We should stay close.” Morris’s tongue licks the corners of his mouth. “We got ourselves a lawkeeper and I really would like to see things fall apart here. Járnhildur can tip the scales, she’s the one who loads them.”  “I like your proposal, Morris.” Bailey strokes her whiskers. “I am a rat of simple tastes, and I hope all of you know this by now but I just really like good old fashioned revenge and feuding. To me, it is the greatest art dwarvenkind can hope to accomplish, certainly it is the topic of many, now likely lost, great works. These are the things I like, and I pride myself of nurturing these relationships. Hard work with a mixture of [persuasion], [politics] and being that extra bit [sneaky].” “As much as I do like Morris’s proposal, I believe making use of that little hunk of flesh over there is the right way to go. Having an extra set of eyes and doing some recon will give us a better sense of Sandstone. I do however fully expect that whomever we would send would go out of their way to further their own agenda. I won’t be the one that denies it.”  Dove had a special sheen to her, ever since the union. But after the scuffle, her fur had gotten messy with blood and saliva. She seemed rather upset about all of it, furiously cleaning herself and seemingly not very excited about this circle. “I like dwarves in flight. Whether they are fleeing debt or their past, that’s what I want to see. I’m not a big fan of direct conflict.” Prodded for more, she added “I’m pretty sure I would still be able to utilize [minor propwork] in there. I am also good at [stealing], [gambling] and [tracking]. All the good -ings. Can someone else go now? I don’t really care about that rat, though I wouldn’t mind taking a break from you guys.”  Angel too had developed a sheen much like Dove, though he stood strong despite his wounds. Proud even. “I’ll step in, Dove. I’m glad we have this brief moment in time to palaver and just clear the air. We all want something, I am a gourmet. I like bravery, when dwarves go up against impossible odds and certain death. I wish I could say that in the moment I cared whether they won or lost, but it is thrilling. The rush and excitement of seeing a cornered rat fighting is enough to make me forget whatever sense of mercy my heart may have.” He seems to downright sparkle. “Send me forward if you wish me to tackle impossible odds. I know [fighting] in several positions, though I prefer from the bottom, I’m a [fearless] sort of rat and I have the capacity to [rally] those who have tapped out of the fight. I believe that like Dove I would be able to [inspire duty] while away”  .“I might be the simplest of us.” The Eater stated calmly at first and then burst into laughter. “I seek murder, I will take whatever killings I can as well as career ending injuries but they do not have the same impact as one felling their own kin. The closer to the heart the better I always say. I don’t feel any need to list my qualities, as far as I’m concerned I am the apex predator. Don’t waste more of my time, throw Angel in the rat and let’s watch Járnhildur turn him into mush.” The Eater roared with laughter and Angel clearly felt wounded by the comment. He did not say any more, even when prodded but he didn’t need to. You already knew he was [scary], [dangerous] and had a [smell of wrongness].  “I think maybe we can just do the mean things to other dwarves but maybe not burn down this one we’re in?” Nixon chimed once the Eater has finished laughing. “I’m really into love, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts, pining after someone or something you can not have. The sweet music that gets written by pining lovers, the poetry and the strength and audacity it inspires. These are rare treats, and I want to eat every single one of them.” Nixon seemed embarrassed by his admission. “I can’t really help it, it’s just in my nature. I’m [cute], good at [crying] if it helps me get my way and I got [good aim] to boot! I think the smartest thing we could do would be to send someone into the rat and try to impress upon Járnhildur that it is actually her pet or something. That way we don’t have to worry about her splattering whoever goes there the first chance she gets.”  “I’ll be honest, I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself being stuck here. I don’t got those sadistic hungers for dwarven misery. poo poo, I just like plain old labour.” Ratford rants, clearly trying to get through all he has to say as quickly as he possibly can. “gently caress, y’all have been waxing poetic about watchin’ people fall over in different ways like there ain’t nothing better than a dwarf on its knees. Nah, I like me a dwarf with hard hands and full days. Giving it’s life to legacy, community or whatever, that poo poo is a sacrifice with real purpose. A sacrifice that leaves a mark that ain’t just a festering wound.” Ratford seemed straight up disgusted. “I do [crafting], [organizing] and I [mentor] fools. I don’t even have no ‘pinion bout this rat now. You twisted.”  When it finally becomes Jester’s turn she merely raises her paw waiting for something. Járnhildur farts and she breaks out in laughter. “Okay, okay, I’ll try to be serious here.” She winks. “You know me, I just like to have a good time, good jokes. You know. I really like when people don’t know they are stepping on other’s hearts. The obliviousness, it’s like having true seeing watching a drunken barbarian locked in a cage with invisible mimes. He just doesn’t know!” Most of you agree that her sense of humour is lacking. “And I think Nixon’s idea is really good, and I think you should all know that I’m super [familiar] looking, so I can probably talk and walk with the dwarfs and they won’t think it’s weird. I’m also a good [consoler] and [performer]. If you send me in there, I’ll forgive that I’m not exactly your guys’ favorite. That’s a good deal right?” The meat of the Circle had been concluded, and you would have to come to a decision what to do with the rat. Some parts of you would come from this circle with hurt feelings and pride, it was a given. In the end the numbers would be the deciding factor, and not even you truly knew how a hivemind’s arrangement of voting blocs work. You just partook in them when you could. Rat Circle remains open until next update! You may ask yourself whatever questions you want! 1. What should be done in regards of the rat? A. Plan Biter Find and take over the local rat tribe(s?)! B. Plan Bailey Send one of you to do recon and learn about Sandstone. C. Plan Nixon Manipulate Járnhildur’s memory to accept the rat as her own. D. Plan Morris Stay together till we are stronger. E. Plan Eater Send someone on a suicide mission to fight Járnhildur, Angel was suggested. F. Plan You Write in. 2. Who should go? (Disregarded in a 1D victory) A. Angel Ba. Bailey Bi. Biter D. Dove E. Eater J. Jester M. Morris N. Nixon R. Ratford *** Járnhildur felt a lot more focused after finishing her business on the toilet. The Elder’s Circle was surely in disarray, heavy drinking should be expected, with all that entails, and no sort of resolution could be expected from them untill this evening. And that was if they really got their poo poo together. She could go and see them, felt she had a duty to and she could always come and go as she pleased due to her station (where does it say that? She thought to herself) but what was she going to do? Tell them something they already know and then have to answer why she hasn’t solved this problem. That this erasure should be her top priority, as if it wasn’t already. Nah, she was better off going off on her own and let them come to her. Sure it would mean her arseguard would get chewed up more, but she could take it, the threat didn’t register against the promise of time without interference. She really felt like she should shake down the Arcanist. Something inside told her that the Arcanist had wronged her somehow deep, within her muddy memory but the more she searched for it, the more slippery the memory got. It was infuriating, it was as if she was under some sort of hex. Her attunement with the law provided her with some magical resistances, perhaps the erasure weakened this somehow? Was this some dark joke. Stunting her mind, while cackling somewhere in a dark hole. She wanted to make him pay. Maybe she shouldn’t go at this problem fists first, and in her current condition that is what would likely happen if she went to see the Arcanist. But Adjudicator Fairbeard had a cool head on her shoulders as well as a connection to the law. She doubted there was a person with better judgement within the vault, maybe if they worked together they could come up with a plan to restore the Law somehow. There was also Beltbuckle Bogi over at the office. They hadn’t really talked today, but he was used to holding down the fort and just taking down people’s troubles. Certainly he was knee deep in people demanding answers to what is happening, dwarves are stubborn creatures to the core. Some of them would refuse to leave and they would sit there until she kicked them out no doubt. She felt sorry for the poor boy as she searched for excuses to not deal with it, to no go back to day to day work and having to find out what that meant. 3. Járnhildur thought hard, gripped by indecision and pulled her pants up… A. Anger! She wants to beat on the Arcanist, we should let her. B. Determination! She’s bent on this path but Morris has impaired her. An Adjudicator’s eye is just what she needs. C. Duty! She’s been hiding from her duty for too long, she can’t make her beltbuckle Bogi hold the fort by himself. D. Masochism! She really doesn’t want to deal with this, I think we should make her. E. Distraction! Why is this pink card still here?
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Oct 16, 2016 03:48
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AJB
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Oct 16, 2016 13:52
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Voting closed, update coming within the next few hours.
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Oct 18, 2016 23:05
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Excitement overtook you as you came to a conclusion. Jester’s curse was too much of a burden. Some of the rats grumbled at this conclusion, but accepted it. It was the most diplomatic choice. They did not wish to have it expressed in any way, but most of them felt the same. “Good riddance.” The door called out to them, and Jester answered its call with but one directive. Take over the local tribes. She flew out, her tail extending indefinitely out, still attached to you. The act was draining, it took more out of you than you had in you, beginning to dissolve you dove into Járnhildur’s heart, feasting upon the meaty mountain. It made everything better. Your flesh was completely restored, even the scratches from the fight you had engaged in with yourself. Whatever that heart was made of, was more than a source of power to you, it was an elixir of life. You pondered if you should eat more, but were still unsure. For just this moment, you would let staying alive do. Chorus of Chittering Squeaks has overextended itself and was forced to consume [006] Heart to stay alive.Járnhildur is now at [090] Heart, while Rat Juice settles at [001]. Whenever Rat Juice goes below this level, Chorus will automatically eat whatever it can to survive. [Curse of distraction] has been lifted but new ones may be brewing. The cards no longer float around the Heart. *** The bathroom stall rat, or Brad as he’d been known to his friends as, felt a very heavy burden within his head. A giant giggling rat lay heavy within him, it was so heavy he couldn’t even move. He couldn’t speak or even think clearly. He could only observe as Jester picked his inner self up with her paw.  “Hey lil buddy. Looking a bit pale there, that won’t do, oh no no!” She put him under her rear and sat down on him. “Let me know when you get a bit more color on your cheeks.” Brad faded to black, as Jester took over his body. His old bones, muscles and fur shifted and remade itself to become Jester’s, down to the knotted tail. She was in the World! Exhilaration overtook her as she picked up garbage from the ground, she couldn’t help laughing out loud, holding a soiled tissue. A sword smacked the garbage bin Brad had been hiding behind away, and exposed her and Járnhildur to one another. In the moment Járnhildur had a moment of strange recognition, but with her memory the way it is that could mean anything. She got ready to strike when a cold shiver ran through her body. She hesitated, at this sudden moment of hollowness. Jester threw the soiled tissue at Járnhildur, screamed “I was trying to get some privacy!” And ran off out of the bathroom. Járnhildur allowed herself to take a moment to settle herself properly. She splashed cold water on her face, dried her beard and took a cold hard look in the mirror. Her buzz had completely worn off, that drat Arcanist had certainly put some curse that was impairing her. She had no proof though, and she was still sharp enough to know that she would probably be rushing right into a trap of some kind. Outside, Jester was enjoying her new found freedom at the Card Shark as she ran up on top of the bar. Helgi had brought out his club, ready to crush her, when she spoke. “What’s a rat gotta do to get a drink in here?” “Wha?” Helgi hesitated, his club stopped mid air inches from Jester. “You got rat sized glasses, right?” Jester said and pointed at several shot glasses. Helgi got a very concerned look on his face and looked towards the bathroom, hoping for the lawkeeper to return. He didn’t like magic none, spellslingers were liable to summon cards from thin air, or worse yet, change the drat cards. There was no sportsmanship to that kind of cheating. “Reckon I do.” He said hesitantly. “But I don’t reckon your kind gets to legal age, ya ken?” “I tell you buddy, rats can get to a hundred fifty. The talking bits just don’t kick in till in our forties.” Jester skittered over to one of the bottles, but Helgi stopped her with his club. He wasn’t buying her schtick, and only tolerated her behavior out of a healthy respect for magic. “Ain’t nobody in here that pours drink but the barkeep. That’d be me. Ye git off the bar and onto one of them tables.” Helgi shot Jester a hard look. “I’ll have me a little talk with the lawkeep when she done concluding her affairs.” “You got it buddy!” Jester answered cheerfully, giving a big thumbs up and made a big show of walking daintily off the bar and jumping down to the floor. She had no intention of spending any more time near Járnhildur, in case the others got second thoughts about this and decided to recall her. She would play their game, but on her terms. *** “drat right I got a rat problem!” Helgi shouted at Járnhildur, who wished to inform him of a sanitational issue. “What you doin’ about them magic rats lawkeep? Ya just watch them while ya piss. Why don’t you go on and do your drat job. First all our words and pictures get ate and now we got talkin’ rats! What’s the overseer doing about this? Is this that drat Autumnhand rat control conspiracy finally coming to fruition? Answer me lawkeep answer me!” He kept on screaming for a long while, but Járnhildur had no intention of hearing the dwarf out. She’d wasted far too much time thinking about cards, doing her job. With time ticking till she’d have to have something to show the Elder’s Circle and Overseer, working smart was vital. The Adjudicator’s Office was a grand section of the vault. Only yesterday the walls had been inscribed with the very history of Adjudication in Sandstone, now the walls stood impossibly smooth, as if carved by the Law itself. The waiting room, usually housing no more than half-a-dozen dwarves, now strained from the crowd inside. Járnhildur walked on through, had a quick word with the receptionist, urging that this was an important time sensitive matter. The receptionist said he would see what he could do. Járnhildur figured it wouldn’t take long and found herself a little spot near Fairbeard’s office. Judging by the chatter, most of the people were here because of erased contract. Some even carrying blank stone tablets with them. She thought of Bogi, and wondered if her station was this full as well. The wait turned out to be much longer than Járnhildur anticipated, but when Fairbeard motioned for her to come in, she just felt grateful. “Have a seat please.” The adjudicator said as he followed his own advice. “Now Hörður informs me that this is a matter of some urgency.” Járnhildur thought for a moment, she should’ve prepared a bit better. Law knew she had the time in the waiting room. “I’m very frazzled today. With everything.” “We’re all frazzled. Look outside.” Fairbeard says, exasperated. “No, this is worse, I fear on top of all this I may have been cursed. I’ve been having questionable judgement today. My memory is cloudy, far away.” Every word hurt, Járnhildur did not care much for showing weakness, but she cared even less for feeling helpless. Adjudicator Fairbeard looked intrigued. “When you say cloudy memory. Do you mean before you woke up this morning?” Járnhildur nodded. “And an absence of dreaming perhaps?” The adjudicator stroked his beard for a while and wrote something down on a sketchpad in front of him. “I have been wondering about the cloud hanging over everyone. People are very snippy about things that didn’t happen today, they always get evasive when I ask about the circumstances in which a contract was made. I wrote it off as dwarven greed being dwarven greed, and my own experiences as singular. Though I of course did not dare speak of this to anyone. A dwarf with a bad memory? I think the ancestors would weep.” “Are you saying this, happened to everyone?” “It is very probable, perhaps a side effect of this erasure. Maybe only a part of the population is affected. Another thing concerns me, your worries regarding your judgement. That might just be an emotional reaction or it could be an even harder to spot symptom of whatever this is. A potentially very lethal symptom, it’s hard enough to be a good judge of oneself’s character on good days. We should put a pin in it. I’m assuming you did not come here to be consoled.” “I’m at a loss when it comes to what I should do, where I should go or just how to do my job. I’m certain that the Arcanist has had something to do with this, I feel it in my guts...” “But you’re not stupid. I know of your history with Egill Bluefingers, I understand your hesitation. I would recommend that you do as always. Follow the evidence, pull at the threads and for goodness sake don’t bring any baggage into anything tangentially official. Your enemies will make you burn if you do.” Fairbeard folds his arms and sinks deep into his chair, staring intently at his framed diploma. As blank as every single book in the bookshelves it stood between. “Is there anything else you know?” Járnhildur stared blankly for a moment. “Couple of bounty hunters came rolling into town today. Maps and papers blank, same story. Might not be just here.” She wanted to tell him about her moments of hollowness, but she’d said so much now. She felt foolish enough as it was. “Then you have to be more than ready to accept that whatever perpetrator there has been in this, this, this…” “Erasure.” “Erasure, thank you Járnhildur, is very likely not down here. This might affect all of Frónos, though we really shouldn’t be making too many assumptions. One such assumption we should absolutely not make is that whoever is responsible is down here. The wisest thing you might be able to do in your position is to make sure that in these times that things do not turn dark.” Fairbeard’s brows sink. “There is much unrest going on within ourselves here in Sandstone. Left unattended, something will break, and if one thing breaks this damaged house of cards we call civility might fall. Do you understand Járnhildur?” Járnhildur nodded. “I feel lost without the Law, as I’m sure most of the others are.” “Right, I do what I can. Right now that means taking down statements, consoling and assuring that everything will be resolved as quickly as possible. I don’t know when or if all of this gets sorted out, I don’t even know if pressure should be put into doing this. Part of me thinks that we should be tackling feuds with gusto but I’m just not certain and I don’t know if that course of action would get any support. As they say, the ship is leaking all over.” Neither dwarf had ever seen a sea or ships, but the intent was clear to both of them. “I don’t know how to keep the law and neither do I have the time to learn how in the short time we have. I do have some concerns or thoughts however. Firstly, the Elder Circle and Overseer should be briefed with this information if they don’t already have it, so they can do a better job of making informed decisions. Secondly, I believe this will hurt the wound of many dwarves, I would advise caution in discussing the matters of memory. Lastly, the people need to see you, your office makes you a beacon of safety.” “Know anyone that needs a lawkeeper around?” Fairbeard laughs and stands up. “Afraid I can’t break that privilege even with all the text in the world gone. Can’t unsay the vows.” Járnhildur stood up as well and shook his hand. “Thank you for your time, Adjudicator. I believe you’ve helped.” “I would be a poor one if I didn’t. Feel free to come back anytime, I’ll be certain to make time for you.” He hesitates for a moment and winks. “Just try not to waste it, time is at a premium.” *** Sandstone felt very confusing to Jester, and she had no idea how to get around, or even how to find other rats. The transference had not granted him Ratford’s enhanced senses, and she really didn’t know where to start. A young dwarf kicked at her and she scattered a few feet. “Rude!” She screamed, and the young man turned pale. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He said. “I thought you were a uh… not a familiar.” “It’s alright buddy, don’t worry about it.” Jester winked. “Maybe you can help me?” The dwarf looked around nervously. “Yes, certainly.” “I’m looking for rats.” “Excuse me?” “My master came to town to do something with rats.” Jester lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I wasn’t really paying attention when I was told, now I lost him.” “You’ll want to go to the sanitation district. The rats live there. You’ll have to go left over there by the baker and just keep going till you reach the stairs. Go down three-” Jester’s eyes glazed over. This seemed like more work by the second, and oh so complicated. She did like the idea of the bakery however. “-and then you turn right at the farms and that will take you to the new sanitation district.” “Thank you, that is very helpful.” Jester lied and smiled her gentlest smile. Jester skittered over to the bakery. Breads hung in the window and that freshly baked scent hung in the air. The baker, a portly fellow with a singed beard, was hard at work beating on dough for a customer. The act itself was strange, as the dough had been placed on a shield and the baker now flattened it out until the dough stretched out to the edges. Jester grabbed herself a little bun from a basket close to the door and chowed down as she watched on. Next came some sort of sauce, pieces of meat, onions, mushrooms and then the baker topped it with beautiful delicious smelling cheese that had been… confetti’d! Having finished the preparation he threw the shield into a flaming oven built into the wall. There was nothing Jester’s new body wanted more than whatever that dwarf was cooking. She scarfed the bun down as the baker gave the customer a sales pitch for garlic bread sticks or a casket of his homemade cider, it came in three flavours! Apple, lemon and dirt. The customer ordered the dirt flavored one, Jester intuited that the fruity flavours were more of a peculiarity. Satisfied with the observation, she noted down the bakery and went out to explore the vault. Somehow, whether by chance or some plot contrivance, Jester wound up following the directions perfectly and soon found herself down at some of Sandstone’s farmlands. Shards of sunstone hung from the ceiling periodically, stretching out for hundreds to meters in one direction. Delicious looking grapes, as far as the eye could see, and rat poop! Loads of it, yet none of the grapes had been touched yet. It was so strange. Jester snatched one of them from the vine and bit into it. Her whole face contorted as the sour flavour hit her tongue, it was horrible. She threw the grape away and sprinted further into the vault. The sanitation district was nothing Jester had anticipated. Most of it was wall less with big open spaces and occasional sheds, offices and workshops. The open spaces however, they looked like war zones. Tiny bunkers, and fortresses lined the floor with a few rat bodies in between. Different colored flags flew in different colors in the fortifications and rats clad in white were dragging their wounded back into their holes. The smell of death clung in the air. What dwarves passed through this area, walked quickly and with purpose, averting their gaze from the horrors of war. “poo poo.” Jester said to herself, thinking about the task at hand. “Where to even loving start?” 1. "I’ll just pick a random flag and go there and figure out how to take over from there." A. Black skull flag Skulls are cool, I guess? B. Red chicken flag These guys are probably total pussies. C. Yellow snake (or squiggly line) flag If that’s their flag, they’ll be impressed by anything. D. Purple rat-with-halo flag Eh. E. Blue shield flag Feels very traditional somehow. F. Orange flag I give them points for simplicity G. Green mask flag That one is weird H. White flag Now that is just defeatist behavior. *** Járnhildur’s visit to the adjudicator’s office had been very successful. Fairbeard not only knew how to work smart, but how to get others to do so as well. As it stood, she saw three paths. Focus on getting the administration in the loop so they could put the right people on the case. Going back to the office to pacify the certainly distraught dwarves who had surely come to speak to her. Lastly, just go straight in and get her hands dirty, Helgi had been yelling about some magic rats. She could do with a simpler mystery and talking to Ronja in sanitation would be the obvious starting point. 2. Járnhildur decided to… Ja. Duty … inform the Elder’s Circle first. Assuming both that this memory muddening is as widespread as she believes and that pride has kept it from being brought up. Jb. Duty … inform the Overseer first. For the previously stated reasons. Jc. Self Preservation … inform both through a written note by missive. There would be no certainty that it would reach both anytime soon or be taken seriously without her presence. Surely the post office is facing its own problems. Ka. Duty … return to her office. Listen to their problems, grant them a peace of mind and then sift through the cases. Kb. Self Preservation … return to her office. Put in a token amount of presence and promote Bogi to a Light Shield Lawkeeper. Kc. Anxiety … return to her office. Kick everyone but Bogi out, tell them she’s working on it (whatever that means) and close the door. Talk with Bogi about what needs to be done. La. Curiosity … go meet Ronja, get to the bottom of this mystery. Lb. Revenge / Paranoia … go not only meet Ronja, but everyone on the way to the sanitation department. Perhaps this is related to the arcanist in some way and she is going to figure it out. Lc. Duty … go meet Ronja, the rat supposed rat problem might be nothing, but any problems in sanitation might have disastrous results for the moral of the people of Sandstone.
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Oct 19, 2016 01:54
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H Jb After a hard morning of drinking, might as well try to do something right and following the proper procedures.
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Oct 19, 2016 04:07
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A Bi D
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Oct 19, 2016 20:28
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INTERMISSION No amount of booze could fill the void inside of Saevar. His entire being felt numb with fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword as he stared into his empty mug. He’d gone far past the point of feeling, and now his heart screamed out to just feel anything. With his other hand, he’d found his sharpest nail and was repeatedly running it up and down between his brows. The light pain centered him, made him feel like he didn’t have to fall apart in front of everyone in this strange vault. The motion itself was easily hidden as well, he thought. Anything but to draw attention to himself. He didn’t look up when the rat ran past, or the lawkeeper. The thought of anyone looking at him specifically terrified him and he willed the shadows to darken around him. A small trick he’d picked up along the way. Along a an illustrious career that now was certainly gone and erased. The only thing keeping his family off the streets was his ace up the sleeve, blackmail material on the dirtbags in the Winterhalls. *poof* Right now they were probably tearing his children out of their homes, and he was helpless to do anything. His children would no doubt be dead before the end of the day. Tears brimmed at the edges of his eyelids as he considered if he even had in himself to enact any sort of revenge. Surely the one person that deserved the oldest justice for his children’s certain doom, would be him. He put them in harms way. Just like how he had never given them the time they deserved. Had to make that money, had to play those games. When was the last time he even got them anything special except for the Yules. He had become completely oblivious to the outside world. Helgi the barkeeper wasn’t really done screaming about the rat, and was fast approaching Saevar’s table. “Hey you, lawdw-” Helgi began and put his hand on Saevar’s shoulder. Saevar sprung to his legs, fresh blood now dripping from his forehead and grabbed the barkeeper by the neck and slung him ontop of his table. “You touch me again fucker, I’ll turn you cold.” Saevar held his knife to the barkeepers neck, and stared in his face with mad eyes. His partner walked over to him and grabbed hold of with both hands. “That’s enough for-” He never got to finish his sentence as a knife entered his side. Face to face with Saevar, a grim realization of what had just happened between them got carved into their features. The feeling of a cord being severed, an unexpected betrayal. Saevar lost hold of the knife and ran for the door as his partner collapsed to the floor and bled. The cardinals were too shocked to even react, it wasn’t until Helgi regained his senses that the call for a healer rang. By then Saevar could only hear it in the distance as he ran deeper and lower into the vault. He tried telling himself that this was an accident, but really his heart knew the truth. It were his hands, it was his miserable self pity and temper that cost his friend his life. The worst part is, that he didn’t even remember his friend’s name. His own partner’s name. His heart felt like it was taking big bites out of it self as he ground his teeth and tried to stifle a howl. When Saevar finally found a place where he felt safe, he crumbled into a corner and shook, sobbing. He was the worst sort of dwarf, the sort who forgot the face of his father and forsook his children. If he’d only had the good sense to bring his knife, he would’ve been able to end this humiliation right then and there. He’d longed to feel something, but none of this was what he’d asked for. His lips trembled as he bit into his arm to stifle a cry. The sharp pain made him feel better again. Centered. Red liquid and the taste of iron filled his mouth, and all his shame was forgotten. Perhaps, he could just eat away his sins and weakness. Doktor Per fucked around with this message at 00:45 on Oct 20, 2016 |
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Oct 20, 2016 00:42
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G Jb This is getting really dark 
Ralith fucked around with this message at 05:00 on Oct 20, 2016 |
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Oct 20, 2016 00:49
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Dang we should have totally jumped ship to that guy's heart and hollowed him out as a disposable ride/strip mined him for nuggets.
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Oct 20, 2016 04:37
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Sorry about the delay, I have had a really hectic time and depressing elections (and an insane obsession with word replacement). I’m also sorry Nyaa, I had no idea how to parse your vote. Anyway, let’s keep the dwarf/rat train rolling. Jester skittered across the battlefield, staying clear of any bodies as she went through rubble and over trenches towards a heavily fortified bunker, flying a white clear flag. The gate to it was fashioned out of of a copper belt buckle and Jester tried to lift it open, but the weight was just too great. She picked up a small rock and beat on the gate. “C’mon buddies,” she pleaded, “let me in. I wanna talk, I’m new in town.” Beady eyes from slits in the walls stared at her and after a while two strong rats lifted up the gate and hissed at her “Get in fast, stranger.” She did as she was told, and the belt buckle fell back in place behind her. The bunker was dark, small beams of light came through tiny slits in the walls, drawing grey, brown and white lines on the furs of the swarm of rats before her. One of the strong rats pointed for her to walk forward. “C’mon, Count Snowflake will decide what to do with you.” She followed them down deeper into the tunnels of the bunker. Barracks, storage rooms full of trash, others full of fresh food. It was really astounding the amount of real estate the bunker was carrying. In rare places, sunstones were kept and shiny beads and glass had been embedded into the walls. These halls exuded beauty in their own way. The journey ended in the largest ones of those halls. A sly white rat sat on a cat-fur throne, surrounded by snooty rats in cloaks and a separate sunstone behind the throne giving the count a divine flair. “Hey there buddy!” Jester said and waved to the count. “I’m Jester and I’m new in town.” “Donald!” Count Snowflake screamed and one of the cloaked rats ran to his side. “Do you think this rat is a spy from the Saints?” Donald bowed. “They are mad m’lord, but I doubt they are this particular flavor.” “I’m right here, buddy.” Jester whipped her knotted tail in annoyance. “I told you I’m new in town!” “Quiet outsider! You are in the presence of nobility.” Donald screamed and scurried in front of the throne. “You’re in the presence of nobility. Mind your manners.” Jester jeered and stuck her tongue out. “I’m the court wizard’s familiar in a different vault. I’ve even talked to a dwarf king.” “Liar!” Screamed Donald, puffing himself up. “No rat can talk dwarfspeak!” Snowflake flicked his tail excitedly. “Hush Donald, I’ll hear this jester out.” He laughed at his own little joke. “C’mon now, let us hear some dwarfspeak.” ”When I look at you, I just see watertrash. I’m not sure you’re fit to lick my paws.” Jester proudly stated in fluent dwarven. The hall fell silent in astonishment, and true to her nature it was Jester who broke the silence. “Believe it or not, I am here to help.” Snowflake stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. “Help how exactly?” “Isn’t it perfectly obvious, dear count?” Jester stalled. 1. I’m here to… gently caress I don’t know, write in! Promise them the sky! *** The Overseers office was just as packed as the adjudicator’s office had been. Járnhildur could recognize several representatives from the different guilds, lounging on the couches scattered through the waiting room. Magnþór from the Statistician Society stood out from the other dwarves. Under his arms he had rolls of paper with arcane scribblings all over them, that Járnhildur couldn’t recognize as anything. Some calculations and projections she reasoned, keeping to herself. Whatever meeting the Overseer was in dragged on, in the neighboring rooms, several emergency meetings were going on as well. Dwarves screaming, writing furiously and chowing down cheesy shieldpie. Seeing the goings on, Járnhildur wondered why they had bothered installing oversized windows on the meeting rooms instead of just using the ever present rock. Certainly this amount of glass was just extravagans, yet she felt comforted seeing other people running around the edges of their wits. It certainly made her more understanding as she waited in silence. The magazine rack was still present, Járnhildur picked one up from the top and looked through the pages. The paper itself showed clear marks of wear and tear, as well as having some old stains such as a very distinct circular coffee stain on the backpage. Someone had even made use of the now blank pages to doodle some emblems. Járnhildur’s fingers caressed the indentations that the pencil had left in the paper, smiling to herself. Járnhildur’s resolve has grown. She rises to [091] Heart. 2. Járnhildur wondered if now that her office no longer had an insignia, if she should make time to have it replaced soon. A: The Cardinals Although they are certainly busy with the Card Shark’s stock, the rat cardinal’s enthusiasm for treading new ground has stuck with Járnhildur. This would certainly anger the more conservative factions of the vault. B: Do it yourself Járnhildur got time and plenty of paper. Something good will come out of it surely. This would certainly anger some craftsdwarfs. C: Interview artists This would take the most amount of time, but would be the least likely to anger anyone. D: This is a waste of time Járnhildur is a lawkeeper, not a graphic designer. *** Once Jester had concluded making promises to Count Snowflake and discussing them thoroughly, the details of which she vowed to flashback to at a later date, she headed back out to the war zone. A certain green flapsing mask flew over a very garish castle. The place had style, she had to admit and having gotten a sense for what rats actually are like from the bottom rung, she felt up to the task. The castle sported four towers, tall walls that would probably reach an average dwarf’s waist and a moat filled with syrup. Green wrappers, decorated with brass wires hung from the walls as well, Jester had to admit that she was impressed by the local’s display. Of course, she had no way in, the drawbridge was up and she was rather wary of coming too close, given the corpses surrounding the moat. Eventually she settled on climbing on top of a nearby siege engine wreckage and just let her natural charms do their thing. “Yoohoo! Castle buddies!” She could see movement on top of the walls and in the towers. A lone masked rat got up above the drawbridge and addressed Jester. “State your purpose traveller!” “I’m here to help.” Jester answered cheerfully. Her stay in Count Snowflake’s court had given her a better impression of what was going on. Whenever the other rats opened their maws, she tended to tune out, but some of Ratford’s tale had begun to surface from her memory. “I’m a translator, see, I talk the dwarf talk. A rat-to-dwarf intermediary if you will.” The masked rat shouts down to its fellows. “We got another touched one over here.” “Figures!” Another rat shouts, from it’s tower. “Came from Whitebuckle.” “gently caress you, buddy!” Jester screamed at the top of her lungs, took a quick look back towards the bunker she’d just left a few minutes prior. They probably wouldn’t hear her. “I ain’t associated with nobody!” “Listen, why don’t you go and negotiate for us a bottle of some hard stuff and a shield pie?” The masked rat hesitated. “We’ll, uh, prepare some, uh, stuff? To welcome you properly.” Jester could hear the snickering coming from the castle, and didn’t miss a beat. “No problem, I’ll just have to have something to promise them in return.” “We already give them our poop and don’t eat their crops!” Masky retorted. “Just drop the gate, so I can elbow drop that conniving bitch.” Another rat chimed in. “Shut up!” Masky hissed back before turning his attention back on Jester. “Maybe we do a little bit extra stuff.” “I have actually already talked to some of the dwarves and found out what they need. I did this on the way here.” Jester lied. “I can tell you right now what you, as sovereign lords of these lands, are in a position that Count Snowflake believed he and his rats were too weak to fill.” “Well we’re not pussies! Tell us! If it’s big, we’ll make more demands!” The masked rat screamed. 3. “It is quite simple masked buddy…” I can probably get them to do anything, if I just bring them the poo poo they ask for. But, what should I ask for? Write in! *** The actual overseer’s office was a sight to behold. Not only was it pointlessly spacious, with a shark pool built in the floor but all the furniture was not only of the finest quality but more often than not accented with valuable metals and gemstones. Behind the overseer’s onyx desk was a large, golden, empty frame and below it, a very tired dwarf. The overseer was a wiry sort of dwarf, particular to expensive things and wearing leather. Unseen by both of the dwarfs, the door to his heart shook, barely holding itself closed. “Please have a seat lawkeeper.” The overseer motioned towards a low comfortable looking chair. Járnhildur shook her head. “Think I’ll stand just where I am, though I won’t ask you to move any. How is your memory?” “As deep as the Road Below. What is it?” Járnhildur observed the overseer for a good while, her instincts holding onto a strand of something about the way it had sounded like a mantra. But she was impaired, she felt it. She wondered if paranoia was setting in. “Looking a bit pale there lawkeeper.Can we please get to the point, I have more hair on my arms than I know what to do with.” “I had been operating under a working theory that the erasure, this event, had also addled people’s memories.” Járnhildur regained her composure and took hold of the back of a chair. “Are you certain your memory clearly past this morning? Did you wake up from a dreamless state?” The overseer pursed their lips, took a bottle out of the desk and filled a couple of glasses. “You have suffered a severe emotional trauma, Járnhildur. It is natural to be in shock when something of this magnitude happens. We’re all dealing with it in our own ways.” Járnhildur took a sip, the hooch burned her throat like an old lover. “There are others that sho-” “-that show the same symptoms.” The overseer interrupted. “I hear Bogi has been holding the fort. Isn’t it time the boy gets deputised? Why don’t you send word to him regarding a promotion and just go home and get better.” “You are overstepping your boundaries overseer.” “My job is to keep this entire settlement healthy and operational. You came in here talking about how your head wasn’t working right and are currently on the path of inciting mass-hysteria in a vulnerable society. Shelf it.” The overseer emptied their glass, fumes streaming from their mouth. “My advice to you is to get your head straight so you can do your job without tripping over yourself. I’ll cover for you.” Járnhildur didn’t know what to say, she just looked hurt and nursed her drink. “When you feel better come see me, I have some things I want to run by the sharp, cocksure lawkeeper I know.” With a mixture of gentle pushing, smiles and pleasantries, the overseer had Járnhildur out the door before she had a chance to even answer him. The moment the door closed behind her, anger filled her up. She had half a mind to storm back in there and smack the overseer around, put’em in their place. She grit her teeth, unsure how to proceed. In a burst of inspiration she made for the bathroom, found the one unoccupied stall and got in. Nature had not called but Járnhildur needed the privacy. For a while she just sat there, shaking. Could it be something so simple as trauma? She didn’t know, she desperately wanted some answers, some guidance. 4. Will you whisper to her? Write in… Her heart, a part of it fell off in front of Biter, steaming with the scent of a doormat. It seemed repulsive to the other rats, but to Biter, it was his favorite meal. He chowed down on the piece and grew slightly, new powers awakening within him. He felt that just by willing it so, he could give anyone or anything an [aura of menace]. Certainly it would be a draining task, but any method of interacting with the outside world was welcome. Járnhildur loses Heart and is now at [085]. Rat juice goes up to [007]. Chorus of Chittering Squeaks now has an arsenal of [inspire duty], [minor propwork] and [aura of menace], it also inflicts [curse of bad judgement] upon its host. 5. Járnhildur is suffering from heart loss but only Biter got to eat, should the others eat as well? It is likely that Járnhildur won’t notice, given her state. 6. What should Járnhildur do? There is a rainbow storm of images and symbols vying for access to her heart. You believe you could get her to do almost anything at this point.
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Nov 3, 2016 15:21
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