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Corriere Turn 13 quote:DiceBotBOT At first it seems to be a natural ditch in this shallow, open plain, deep and thickly-grown with grass – but then I ride alongside it for what must be miles before making my rest, and not only does it continue in straight lines with perfectly angled corners, I see more and more of these ‘ditches’ in the distance, alongside, all coming together to a centre and splitting off again. It almost looks like a pattern – but then again, my eyes do play tricks on me sometimes. They see patterns in clouds and cracked walls. Perhaps if I could see it from above I’d better understand, but I’m not a bird, only a man. I make camp at the centre, in the shelter of the walls of these ditch-canals. - What here is out of control? The wind is aligned so that I have forewarning of their arrival. A distant hollering, the ringing of bells, lash of a flail… no, many flails, striking flesh with dull wet thuds. Stifled screams from inside green capirotes. Night is closing in and I see the flames of their lamps coming down one of the channels, amber reflected off wet grass. Chains and chants. These people don’t sound inviting, and I don’t stay long enough to overturn my suspicion – I scrabble up and out and back to my horse and creep away, guiding him on foot. Now I’m exposed to the whipping wind, but it’s preferable to being captured or trampled by whatever sordid procession this is. I hope I’m at a safe distance now. Then they go dead quiet, and I turn, half-expecting to see a horrible crowd staring at me over the lip of the ditch. I don’t see that. I don’t see anything except the night black. I do hear a moan, faltering and coiling and close, like the noise made by a very sick man long kept in a sanatorium cell finally being released and feeling the breeze. Ghosts, perhaps? - Who tends to this place? Just as I’m setting down to camp again, I see another lantern, this one bright and white, coming along the path rather than one of the ditches. I freeze and it approaches – and I’m glad to see that it’s held by a real person, a man, or perhaps woman, scowling. They wear an old monk’s habit, but recut to be more utilitarian. And spectacles on a thin chain around their neck, and heavy leather boots, and a belt of tools of some kind, and hair cut very short. I notice all these things because when they stop, they glare at me for a few moments before they actually speak. You saw it, they say. Yes, I answer. But who were they? What were they doing? Where did they go? Stay away from it, they say. It’s mine. Yes, but… They wave off my questions and move on. I sleep lightly and am glad when I leave this place in the morning. On the way out I pass another rider for the Prince, headed to the forest. I yell "away!" into the wind. Hopefully they'll receive my warning not to stay here. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 10, 2019 10:53
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Cicalone Turn 13 quote:DiceBotBOTLast Sunday at 3:59 PM What is learning from this place? Birds have learned something about this place. Perhaps we should, too. A silent forest is unnerving. There is a reason it is silent. There is a reason there are no bird. I'm not sure I want to find out what it is. I promise myself I will hurry to the edge. But, of course, the prince asked me to bury a knife under the tallest tree. I particularly really understand why but this forest, this home of giants, seems to be the right general location. As for the specific one... This is impossible. I can't for the life of me tell which one is the tallest. They all kiss the sky. They all split passing clouds with their tips. I stand at the base of one massive trunk. Then another. Then a third. Eyeballing their heights. They all seem roughly the same: enormous. Magnificent. It occurs to me that perhaps there is some correlation between width and height -- so I count my horse's steps as I circle particularly large individuals. But then I stop. I have no way of proving this relationship. I'm basically still guessing. This is impossible. Frustrated, I continue my travels. I hurry along. Still, it's almost dusk when I reach the edge of the forest. I pitch camp and fall asleep. I have no dreams. But I remember silence. Dreams of silence. I wake up, uncomfortable and ready to move on. The next morning, I am making breakfast as the sun peaks over the horizon. I watch as the shadows of the trees stretch out onto the fields before me. Stretch seemingly as far as the eye can see. I take moment to think. I finish my breakfast. I take out the knife. I bury it in the shadows. I'll never find anything larger. I am happy to leave. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, broken-hearted bachelor, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a holy book missing a page Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1 Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 02:52 on Sep 11, 2019 |
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Sep 10, 2019 18:12
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Allegra Turn 13 quote:I arrive at the winding cliff path As Allegra approached the winding cliff path, the first thing that hit her was the smell. She knew well the aroma of death, and this place was replete with it, the air thick and heavy. Down at the bottom of the cliff were the remains of a trade caravan, wagons shattered like ships foundered in a storm, broken-legged horses still in the remnants of their traces, and the unmistakable shapes that were once humans. The bodies and wagons had clearly been ransacked, the shattered frames of wood and bone left to bleach in the sun together, and to feed the carrion-birds. Just as Allegra was about to conclude that there was nothing she could do for the cliff-pushed victims, She heard something. The song of a raven, perched on a jutting, broken axle. A song without words, but with a clear melody. She held her place for a while to transcribe it, intent on taking beauty away from this place of ruination and suffering, an act of defiance against those who did this. That was all she took as she went on her way Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, inveterate gambler Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin, a transcribed song without words from a raven. Growth: 0 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Sep 11, 2019 01:08
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Cicalone Turn 14 I see Allegra coming from a ways off. The cliff is treacherous but provides me an unparalleled view. As we pass, I remove my hat and use it to wave. "Beloved!" I say, cheerfully and free of stutter. I meant to say hello. What the hell? Flustered, I replace my cap and I frown. Truly my tongue is cursed. Truly, I am cursed. quote:@UnCO3: 2d6k1 = (1+4) = 4 I share my camp with a foreigner. A doctor. But not the kind that heals the sick or treats wounds. A useless doctor. He doesn't seem to mind, or notice, when I don't return his inquiries for conversation. In fact, he seems more than capable of carrying on for the both us. He speaks at great length about dirt. And stone. And bones. He points to all the bones around us. Massive things. Belonging to great and ancient monsters, surely. He pulls out a notebook and preaches from it. Using diagrams and drawings. Drawing on points I don't follow. That I don't think any could follow. "Don't you understand?" he asks. "Don't you see? These bones aren't thousands of years old. They are thousands of thousands of years old!" I inform him that is impossible. That that would make the bones older than all of God's creation. "There is no God!" he cries. And that is enough for me. I strike him once and he crumples. I didn't even hit him that hard. Concerned, I check his vitals. His breathing is shallow. But, after a moment, his eyes flutter. He'll be fine. Or as fine as he ever was. The mad man. I take out my holy book and flip to the origins of the world. I rip the pages out, fold them, and press them between his teeth. He needs them more than I do. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, broken-hearted bachelor, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a holy book missing a few pages Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 2
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Sep 11, 2019 21:18
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Allegra Turn 14 "Beloved!" my sister's husband's brother calls to me. Seeing my twin in my features, perhaps? I remember well how close they were before Cicalone chose duty and the war over settling down with her. Not the settling type, neither he nor I, but I can definitely see some of what my closest kin saw in him. If he's offering interest, I might well follow up on it, for we both weave a lonely road with the same purpose and dedication. I have but time for a single word as duty carries us on, so, smiling warmly I enquire, "Proposition?" before moving out of range. Has a seed been sown? We shall have to see. quote:@UnCO3: 2d6k1 = (6+1) = 6 The stockade was the first thing to draw the eye, jagged wooden pilings surrounding a substantial area. Within them, large, fertile fields interspersed with dwellings. Outside, plains on the verge of barrenness, and well-armed, well-armored patrols. A few inches of steel were bared from their scabbards when I tried to draw near, stopping and trying to question them met only with stony silence, and scowling eyes bored into me even as I gave them a wide berth. They had made a paradise from the wilderness, but outsiders were clearly unwelcome. What is the most beautiful thing here? The glimpses I got of the stockaded land appeared to show a truly successful venture, well-built houses, verdant fields with lush, well-tended crops, a balm for the eye and the soul if not for the barrier they had raised. What here is out of control? We are far from the city, and the seal of the Prince holds no sway. These people do as they will and brook no interference: Truly, they are out of control. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, inveterate gambler Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin, a transcribed song without words from a raven. Growth: 0 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Sep 12, 2019 00:47
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Corriere Turn 14 quote:DiceBotBOT I stop for a moment and realise where I am. Guiding my horse gently down this high ridge, facing into a baking red desert, aiming for the shadow-robed far ridge. The sun is almost unbearable, the heat makes me forget myself. I see bones now. Cattle, and other creatures, and the occasional human skull, of course. That won’t happen to me. I see a clutter of bones I can’t identify. But the stranger thing is the fishbones, and the ribbony dead weeds laid out in the sun. It doesn’t look like any scrub I’ve seen before, but then the world is enormous, so they say, with more variety than all the panes of stained glass in the big cathedrals put together. Surely there’s room for a desert walked by fish? I wipe the veil of sweat from my face. Don’t be stupid. Clearly these were thrown away by travellers who couldn’t stand the smell of sun-baked rot. Why does this place exist? Down, down, deeper down, the path winds deeper down. The sun disappears below the other side of the far ridge, as if following my steps across from me. A great black shadow from the far ridge stretches across the desert, and in the darkness where I’m no longer blinded by light I see bones, and things shaped like bones. I see spirals, I see dagger-toothed mouths, I see things I don’t have words for, and some I’m glad I don’t have words for. Shapes in the rock, shapes in the ground, worn away or perfectly-formed. Giants and pixies of the older worlds. I remember Dr. Mill’s tales of the creatures from long ago, thousands of thousands of years ago. He might like to see this place. This old, dead, empty-yet-full place. I bed down for the night in the cold desert and sketch some of what I see before drifting off to sleep, wrapped in my cloak for warmth. Who or what loves this place? I wake drenched with saltwater – no, with sweat. What? Why? The desert was so cold! I look around, and then up and the sun is looking at me and it hates me for crawling on the desert it loves but can never touch And I ride with all fleet up the ridge and away from this place. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 12, 2019 11:19
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Corriere Turn 15 quote:DiceBotBOT It’s early when I see the Caravan. I haven’t often come upon it while it’s still moving. The whole things trundles and trudges forwards, leaving churned-up ground behind that’s a little tricky to navigate. I manage, though. There are the rearguards – I give a friendly nod as I approach, a sign they return – then the wagons and the main guard clustered around the Prince’s wagon. Strange red-blue smoke puffs out of the chimney. Well, I heard from Katerina that the Prince still keeps the services of an alchemist, though that might have been a rumour… I pull up alongside, readying to step aboard, but then a moderately well-dressed arm pushes open the nearest window-shutters and reaches out from the dark to gesture for my letters. The sun is heavy on my eyes and the clatter of wheels and hooves is doing my ears no good, but I think I can make out a white beard inside, encircling a mouth framing words I can’t hear. Well, I pass them over and he nods to me and I nod to him and a little bit of the blue smoke drifts out, so he hurriedly closes the shutters and pushes a new bundle of letters through between them for me to take away again. There’s little left but to drift back to one of the ordinary wagons to gather tack, roots, and cured meats, and whatever else they have going for rations. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 13, 2019 12:12
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Cicalone Turn 15 quote:@UnCO3: 2d6k1 = (5+5) = 5 What is the area called now? The city is changing so much. These streets. These buildings. These people. They exist where the Dun Quarter once was but... Something smells incredible. I've never been one to spend my money on food when I didn't have to. It's always struck me as a wasteful, silly extravagance. God gave me hands of my own. I can make my own food. But I have money, coins to spare, and I have so little to spend them on. No wife. No children. I certainly won't be sharing them with my brother. And I've been traveling for a long time. Perhaps I deserve this small indulgence. That smell. It's coming from that tavern. The one with the sign above the door with three flames painted on the wood. I enter. There is music. Patrons in fine clothing. I'm side-eyed, no doubt for the wear and tear of my humble outfit. For the blade on my hip. But my coins will spend the same. And I have the seal of the prince. I flash it and there are sighs of relief. No penniless vagabond, I can see them thinking, but a noble and tired knight. The smells are intoxicating. I don't recognize them. Nor do I recognize the food being serve. When asked what I want, I point at another's plate. My meal arrives. Meat. Vegetables. Some kind of sauce. Unfamiliar. Steaming. The smell, though, by God, the smell! I dig in and... I spit it out! My immediate thoughts jump to poison, sabotage, espionage, murder. It burns! My tongue, by God, my mouth, my lips, my eyes water. Yet I am met with laughter. Cheerful. None of it spiteful. Someone slaps me on the back. The proprietor? "First time, ah? Don't worry. The heat will die in a minute. And then? Then you will want another taste. You will need another taste. You will savor this flavour. Desire it at night as you might a lover. Southern peppers. Brought by traders from far down south, across the sea, they say, where it grows wild on the side of the road." He is right. After a moment, my mouth no longer burns. And the taste? It is... it is good! "Small bites," he says. "Small bites." I nod and thank him. "This is the future of food in the city," he says. quote:@Tyrannosaurus: 1d6 = (1) = 1. Severance. I haven't eaten like that since the wars. With a hand on my belly, I stumble down the street, so full I feel slightly drunk. I find a small, lovely park and a comfortable bench. Never would have seen this in the old Dun Quarter. I settle in. Perhaps I'll take a nap. The streets are clean. The air is nice. A cool breeze blows across my face and I close my eyes. I hear a grumbling behind me. "What is he doing here? I thought they were all removed." "Some red-nosed toaster, I'm sure, too inebriated to remember where his kind live now. I should say something. Give him a sharp kick in the pants." "No, don't, they can be dangerous. Like rats. Dangerous when cornered. Leave him be." I turn, snarl, and, once again, flash the seal of the prince. The couple, startled, scurry off. Like rats themselves. I try to settle back into the bench but this golden place has lost some of its gilding. quote:@Tyrannosaurus: 2d6 = (2+5) = 7. Clarity. My brother is distraught. His only son. His only child. Gone now. Forever. A monk. It is not an unhonorable profession, I insist. After all, I once considered it. When I was younger. But then, the blade tournament, a retired captain, words of faraway lands, wanderlust, the wars... As we drink wine, my heart begins to ache for my brother. After all, he is right. Noberto is too young to have made this decision. This decision is too permanent. Even soldiering, I had options. Even now, I have options. Where to eat. Where to sleep. My belo... my sister-in-law asks for my reassurance to this decision. I have none. They argue. I listen. "He s-should have b-been a man first," I say. "First." There has to be something I can do. Even as I leave the city, that idea consumes my thoughts like. There has to be something I can do! -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a holy book missing a few pages Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 14:26 on Sep 13, 2019 |
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Sep 13, 2019 14:24
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Allegra Turn 15 quote:UnCO3: 2d6k1 = (2+5) = 5 In motion again as I reach it, a smile and a salute to the rearguard as I once again rejoin my fellow faithful, the loyalists of the prince. It seems to hearten them as well, for much the same reasons. I ride up through the train of wagons, noting with delight Corriere's trusty steed by one of the commissaries. I salute him and make a note to ride by and talk shop once my business with the prince is concluded. I see the Royal Alchemist depart the Principal wagon, seeming in good spirits. I take my place alongside, and clamber aboard to give my Prince the song he craved. Going by my transcription, I emulate the action of the raven, echoing the wordless song before delivering it to my Prince in its entirety. Delighted, he offers me a boon, and I make good on my resolution at the city. "Your highness, there are wicked people striking at those who bear your seal in the city, threatening their families and impeding your messengers. They seek to rob money or valuables, and have been violent and harmful. I ask that these people be slated for arrest and be made persona non grata within the City and the lands it has dominion over, forbidden to reside or conduct business. The harm they have caused demands restitution, and those protected by your seal should be as sacrosanct and inviolate as yourself when in your direct service." Changing self from Inveterate Gambler to Inviolate Representative of the Prince for an unbreakable tie. Following this, I went to meet with Corriere, to share news of that boon and to ask him, "How have you fared lately?" Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, inveterate gambler Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin, a transcribed song without words from a raven. Growth: 0 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Sep 13, 2019 22:57
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Corriere Allegra again - it's not bad to see a familiar face. "Not too well, not too bad. Every place I rest is a graveyard or bonepit. I'm still alive, though. And you? More than that, what did you talk with the Prince about? If you don't mind me asking." - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 13, 2019 23:14
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Allegra "There's plenty of hostility along the way, a cliff where bandits ransack caravans, a hostile settlement where swords are readied for us but words are not. As for my conversation with our lord, bandits of another sort, those attacking us in the city, or threatening our families. By our return, that should soon be ended." Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin Growth: 0 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 AJ_Impy fucked around with this message at 23:58 on Sep 13, 2019 |
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Sep 13, 2019 23:39
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Corriere "I think I know the bastards you mean. They wanted to hurt my brother the last time I was home. My family and the good people of the Dun Quarter may have already strung them up for their crimes, but I suppose it's good to know there are higher hands we can call down on them, too." - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 14, 2019 01:24
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Allegra Turn 16 "Aye, and that the work we do for our Prince is worth protecting. Safe travels and an easy ride, my friend." With that I took my leave, to rest up before my return to the city. quote:UnCO3: 2d6k1 = (3+3) = 3 I top up my canteens before venturing across the vermilion barrens, having no wish to add my bones or those of my steed to the extensive collection strewn over the next miles. As I ride, I witness a curiosity: Shaded by the long-bleached bones, nature resists her absence, hardy desert plants part-shielded from the sun grow in opposition to the oppressive glare. Not all are successful, I see a number of brown, shrivelled casualties along the way, but it seems the fight between life and its absence is still ongoing even in this unforgiving clime. I pause for a moment to uproot a hardy but wilting specimen, securing it on a pot on my pillion and giving it water. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin, a hardy desert plant. Growth: 0 Decay: 1 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Sep 15, 2019 11:41
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Corriere Turn 16 quote:DiceBotBOT …An undulating sea of silver-topped grass. This place stretches on forever. Sometimes I feel like I’m on top of a huge hill like an upturned bowl, and down all around me is grass curving away to infinity. Nothing but grass, forever and ever. What past has this place put behind itself? What is dying here? My horse’s hooves click on stone. Perhaps an exposed rock, I think, and then they click again, and again, and again, and the grass ahead almost looks like it’s growing in rows rather than wild as it should be. I carry on, clicking along the way, until at last I see broken stone barriers jutting from the silver-topped waves. It’s only when I pass by that I see the craftsmanship – filigree, fiddly designs, carvings of… horses. The stones below are clearer here, closer and less obscured, and everything comes into focus. How long has it been since this road felt a horse’s hooves? It doesn’t last for long. Soon enough the barriers break off again and the stones get looser, like lonely old teeth. There’s a growing layer of dirt on top of them, and I even spy roots growing over the stones. This highway is slowly being buried alive. While I set down to rest for the night I dimly remember a sermon in church about a sister-city to our City, a place less grand, but still people of the same faith, still valuable. They never said where it was, and I don’t think they still knew then. Even so, the designs on this road are just like those at home, on some of the older streets and bridges. I take some inspiration from them and carve a new knight from the fragment I took from the ancient tree, before drifting off for the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn tree fossil chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 15, 2019 12:29
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Cicalone Turn 16 quote:DiceBotBOT Who resents this place? I resent this place. And I have to believe that any man, woman, or child who has love of life also resents this place. Double so if the person is in a hurry. I am in a hurry. From the distance, I see a circling flock of vultures and I know there has been another victim of the cliffs. Perhaps I should stop looking at this path as anything more than a shortcut. I could try and find a way around it... That would add a week to my travel, though. At least. Possibly longer. Do I have that kind of time? No, I do not have that kind of time. I should move past this place as quickly - and as safely - as I can. Oh, Nevio, can you really pass an unburied soul and do nothing? I suppose I have time for that... I tie off my horse and go searching. It doesn't take me long. A farmer by what clothes I can see. Thrown from his cart and then crushed by it. His market-harvest is in disarray around his body, spoiled and rotten. No trace of his animal. Perhaps it survived. I'd like to think it did. I most of the day burying him. I use wood from his broken cart to dig and to create a makeshift grave marker. Simple. But so am I. I tear out another page of my holy book. Tie it there. When I'm finished, I carry pieces of the cart back to the trail. I work into the night. A makeshift sign. I carve out letters by hand. DANGER. TRAIL COLLAPSES. DEATH. I don't know if it will help. People still need to travel here. I know I do. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a holy book missing a few pages Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Sep 16, 2019 20:19
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Allegra Turn 17 I ride by my twin's brother in law, and pass him the hardy desert plant in bloom along with an inviting smile. He speaks but a single word, and it warms my heart. quote:2d6k1 = (6+4) = 6 Who owns this place? These vasty trees are silent, eerily so. No birdsong, not even a... wait. A lone peregrine, a fellow wanderer has flown in from afar, looking to roost in the security of the high branches. But the branch, it's moving, coiling around the falcon's legs! It's trying to get away, away from... it's getting dragged towards one of the boles on the trunk. Carnivorous trees! I spur on my horse as quickly as they can manage, because this benighted copse is clearly its own master. I take nothing, and leave at great speed. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Sep 17, 2019 00:40
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Cicalone Turn 17 "Proposal?" I shout with seemingly as many p's as there are stars in the sky. Yet, as a response, I am tossed a flower. I am gifted a smile. This is good, yes? I fell in love with that face once before... quote:DiceBotBOTYesterday at 3:36 PM The smell. Oh, god, the smell. It's like running into a wall. It hits me before I even see the field. I'm crossing over a hill when the winds shift. My horse bucks. My eyes water. I pull the top of my tunic up over my lips and my nose but the malodorous stench seems to cling to the fabric. There is no relief. The field is beautiful, though. Undeniably so. Blooming petals stretching as far as the eye can see. A cornucopia of colors. And now, in the middle, as tall as a mighty tree, as striking as some great heathen tower, is what I can only assume is this land's opus. A single, massive bloom. Three men could stand, one on top of the other, and still be in it's shade. Deep purple, it is. Like wine. So captivated am I by it that I don't notice the hives. Upon each giant petal rests a hive. Each hive home to a buzzing swarm. This is a place of death. I know it as surely as I know my own name. To approach this corpsebloom is to become one myself. So I wait until twilight. Wait until the insects are asleep. But I can't wait too long, else I risk my horse not being able to see where it goes. We ride hard, giving the opus a wide berth, still kicking up a cloud of stinging creatures, but we cross the field safely. After I make camp, I carefully comb through both myself and my horse, removing stray petals and tossing them into the campfire. They sizzle and crack as they burn. I decide to keep one. I don't know why. But I do. I press it inside my holy book. Perhaps the stink will disappear with time. If so, I could give it to... Her. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a holy book missing a few pages, a fetid bloom pressed behind the cover; a desert corsage Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Sep 18, 2019 04:32
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Corriere Turn 17 quote:DiceBotBOT I’m flagging by the time I reach obelisks again – but what a change, now! People everywhere, a whole settlement built up around their bases and by the roadside. I don’t need to forage or camp or search for water. Instead, they welcome me in. The value of my duty to the Prince and the City seems plain to the people here, which is lucky for me, as I receive bed and board at no charge. That does seem a little unfair, so I ‘pay’ with one of my little sculptures and some tales of where I’ve been – the red desert, the bone-filled gully, the giant forest, I even tell them about the network of canals, though I leave out the spirits. Then I tell them about the old road in the sea of grass. It’s those two places that interest them the most – the old, dead places with secrets carved into the earth. I see the same kind of twinkle in some of their eyes as I do in Mill’s. Unnerving, but exciting. quote:DiceBotBOT One of the dancers. They’ve stopped dancing. The others spin and twirl obliviously on, but this one… they’re looking back down at the figure. And as I follow their eyeline down, I see that the figure is reaching up to them. And the dancer is reaching down. And though there are scholars awake into the night all around us – I see them lit up in amber through their windows and in their tents – their eyes are stuck fast to their texts and translations. And when I look back, the figure is gone, and the dancer dances. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 2
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Sep 18, 2019 09:03
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Corriere Turn 18 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT A dead spiralling thing, like I’ve seen before in rock and red sand, but not quite the same. A spiral of stone embedded in one of the old bricks harvested from this ancient structure. It must have been uncovered when they broke it away to build this room. It’s so close, I can almost touch it. Was it really God that made this bridge? - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 2 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 01:08 on Sep 19, 2019 |
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Sep 18, 2019 12:23
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Allegra Turn 18 quote:2d6k1 = (2+2) = 2 How is this place divided? Once again, I am welcomed at the Obelisks, the settlement strong and thriving. There are few physical demarcations, but there seems to almost be an obliviousness amongst the researchers towards the dancers themselves. Their focus is on the obelisks and their texts, the movements of those atop the pillars are cut off, inconsequential to them. Strange goings on with those figures. They were all there at my arrival, but when I checked in the evening after supper, one of them seemed to be missing. It was there in the morning when I took my leave, but my hosts seemed almost disinterested in the mystery, ave snide look at one of their number who seemed abashed for some reason. What am I not seeing here? I took and left nothing as I headed on. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Sep 19, 2019 00:39
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Cicalone Turn 18 quote:DiceBotBOTYesterday at 4:08 AM I'd heard of zorse traders back in the city. Nomadic herdsman whose women shaved their heads and whose men dyed their fingers blue. And I'd heard of their strange beasts. Their stunted-legged, striped ponies: hardy, healthy, capable of long desert travels, but uniformly infertile. I didn't think they were real. The people or the "zorses". They're real. And this is one of their camps. At least temporarily. Tomorrow they'll be gone. But today, today they welcome me cheerfully and they share their food. It's spicy. Familiar, like at the Three Flame tavern. Yet... better? Richer? They seem surprised when I don't scoff at the taste. Pleased when I accept a second portion. They try to trade my horse for one of their striped ponies. They insist it will travel better in the desert. Be safer. I decline. I need speed. They fill my waterbags but do so privately. They don't let me see the location of their secret well. I suppose each roving people has their own esoteric watering holes, discovered over generations of travel and jealously guarded. The knowledge passed down father to son, mother to daughter. In the morning, we depart. I in one direction. They in the other. I am unsure if we will ever meet again. After all, had I arrived but a day later, I would have found this land empty and barren. How was this place abandoned? Methodically. The nomads leave little trace of their campsite. I doubt it will take long for the shifting winds to cover whatver small evidence remains. What does this place believe? That it is important to stay hidden. I don't know why. If I am lucky, I will never learn. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a holy book missing a few pages, a fetid bloom pressed behind the cover; a desert corsage Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 0
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Sep 19, 2019 21:40
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Corriere Turn 19 quote:DiceBotBOT What are they… espionage!? Really? Every street I pass down I hear more of the same, accusations layered on accusations. Some of them sound more realistic than others. By the time I reach the parks I really am a little worried. Then I see her, playing as usual, and thank God for that. I wave to her, and her face lights up, and I sit down to play. Some of the people around mutter and glare. I show them a gesture or two and they turn away. Not everyone here is so concerned with the rumours, though. Fortunately it seems there are plenty here who just gather for the game, and not for politics, and we play plenty of matches between all of us, and—incredibly, I almost beat her! For the first time! A genuinely close match. Surely I’ve gotten better, and if I keep playing against her (and the others here), surely I’ll get better still. I sit back on the stone bench and consider the rumours while Katerina resets the board. Perhaps she did this, perhaps she didn’t. I couldn’t give a drat about the grand political ambitions of the courtiers and guildmasters and the other people that rule this city. No. And besides, I am my namesake. I carry the letters. I don’t read them, I don’t speak with the Prince or anyone in the courts here. They would never stoop to speak with me properly in the first place, the arrogant bastards. Anyway, I never talk work with her. I do my job and I do it well. What worries me is some noble using me as a scapegoat for their own loose lips. We play again. - At last we call it a day. Before I go she warns me—then holds her tongue. It’s better, she says, that I see it for myself. I say my goodbyes and make my way back into the district, to the sound of church bells ringing. quote:DiceBotBOT As I pass through the middle district I see some faces I remember. I double take at that alone – these are not my people – and stop in my tracks to place them. A man and a woman, look to be of lesser noble birth, features so familiar. The woman runs out to a monk stepping off the Church omnibus and calls his name – “Noberto” – and embraces him, followed by her husband. The monk they meet is not the young man I saw before, but full-grown, on the threshold of adulthood, peering in, peering out from under his cowl. A boy. A young, but grown man. The same name. Taller now than his parents. What—no—that can’t be right. I was here just days… weeks… how long ago was I last here? Have I grown old on the road, so tired I didn’t even notice? Have I outgrown my own flesh and blood? I break into a run through the sea of cowls and habits, parting people this way and that and leaving a trail of discarded, fallen cloths on the cobbles in my wake. As if by instinct, my feet follow the old roads home. To this new home, the New Quarter, or the Dun Quarter, I can’t remember what people call it. I find myself in an empty brick-paved square with a small decorative fountain at its centre, and stop to catch my breath and refill my oilskin… take a drink. Afterwards I peer at my face in the fountain, prod at my skin. It looks and feels as full and solid as ever. How, then? That family was the same one. They called him by the same name. Young men don’t grow old that fast. Nobody said anything unusual. Someone would have said something if a boy grew into a man in such a short time. Am I the one out of place? I look up to see well-dressed people staring at me. I recognise none of them, and they look like they neither recognise me nor enjoy my presence here. They’re not exactly angry. Aghast more than anything, and I realise that my traveller’s cloak and rough clothes must seem too dirty for this place. I flash the seal of the Prince and they shake their heads and mutter among themselves, then glare and move on. Everyone else I see on my way through the red streets acts that way. At last one of them tells me to go to the Dun Quarter, where I belong. I say to her, I’m already here. She says, no, this is not where you live. I want to correct her, that I don’t live here any more, but she clicks her tongue and walks off before I can speak. - It takes too long to find out what’s happened and I feel the heat rising in my chest every time one of these people speaks down to me. By the time I’m on my way home the sun is already dipping below the City’s walls. The streets get rougher, the houses seem to rot further and further one by one, as I walk into the new Dun Quarter. Rows of tenements, filthy slums, a solitary weary, wary mutt with just a little trust to spare, shutters slam as I walk past. Just like home. Sun just barely sets and I find Milo in the blue light. He’s with some friends, though he waves goodbye and runs over to greet me and for the first time today I smile. I tell him about the desert, the creatures that used to be there, the inn on the bridge, the alchemy, the lovers in moonlight, the scattered old roads crossing the sea of grass, how everything is so vast and old and how I’ve barely scratched the surface. I can see it in his eyes – he wants this. He tells me stories as well, but less openly. He’s getting older, growing into a young man. The things he does maybe aren’t so exciting any more, or not worthy of being proud of. Some things I have to coax from him, because next to the things I’ve seen and done he thinks they don’t measure up at all. Adventures become crimes. Doors briefly opened are now shut in his face. Bitterness. My duty to the Prince gives me a freedom my people here don’t have. Milo doesn’t have. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he should take up a duty like mine. He’ll have to be quick, he’ll have to be hardy, and he’ll have to want it. It’s all I can do to inspire him with tales of the world beyond the walls, both inside and outside the City. I’m finding myself hating this place more and more, too. He says those well-dressed thugs haven’t been around again. Unsurprising, I say. This place looks like it would eat their type alive or drown them in mud. And not for solidarity’s sake. I don’t even visit our new home. The soil of the parks, the red brick dust of the New Quarter, the dirt of the Dun Quarter, they mix together on the soles of my boots as I trudge back to the postal stables to turn in for the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 2
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Sep 21, 2019 10:57
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Allegra Turn 19 quote:2d6k1 = (1+4) = 4 This place again, but something seems different. I approach the town past a new array of buildings being built up from materials taken from the old. I stop and enquire where they came from: It seems the town is factionalising, with the people of the new district fed up with clinging to the past and looking to reshape the town into a new identity, no longer tied to what it was. This has caused simmering resentment with those in the nostalgic areas, and the atmosphere is not one I seek to linger in. My sojourn is fleeting, and I depart at the earliest convenience, taking nothing.ave that which I brought. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a family-supportive woman no matter what, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Sep 21, 2019 19:25
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Cicalone Turn 19 quote:DiceBotBOTLast Thursday at 5:00 PM It appears suddenly. As sudden as a small mountain can, at least. A break in the forest line, a small stretch of grass, and then there it is. Solid stone but barely taller than the treetops. And, most surprisingly, someone carved a woman here. Straight into the rock. As tall as the mountain itself. A queen or a princess. Or a warrior. Or something else, perhaps. She holds an axe in one hand. A flag in the other. But the work was completed a long time ago so whatever fine details made up her armor, the face, her banner, have been worn away by time. I wonder if anyone remembers who she is. Who or what is healing here? The mountain, I suppose. Washing away, with wind and rain and years, the works of man. What is the core of this place? I rest at the feet of the woman. I feel calm. Even my horse seems calms. Like the whole world is settling in for a nap. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a holy book missing a few pages, a fetid bloom pressed behind the cover; a desert corsage Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 0 Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 21:48 on Sep 23, 2019 |
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Sep 23, 2019 16:39
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Cicalone Turn 20 quote:DiceBotBOTToday at 1:24 PM I am distracted as I approach the prince. My thoughts are with stinging insects, dangerous cliffs, striped horses, tall trees, towering stone women, an innumerable number of nights alone with none but my horse for companionship. My thoughts are with Noberta, called Allegra, another courier. I wonder where she is. I wonder when I will see her again. But not whether I will see her again. That seems set. And it comforts me. I hand over the letters. But my holy book is amongst them. I do not realize it until it is in prince's hands. Quick, I try to speak, I try to speak, my stupid tongue freezes in my mouth. I am a silent observer as he opens it. Sees the fetid bloom. Smells it - even amongst all his perfumes. Makes a face. Smiles. He informs me he is delighted. Still silent, I stand as he pontificates on the greater points of my "delivered puzzle." What does it mean, he asks. That foul things may hide between fine words? That there is sordidness in even holy places? That history itself is rotten? Or is that behind terrible things, beauty can still be discovered? That time and patience will deliver us all - if only we are fortunate enough to have both? He speaks in circles. Then he pockets my book, claps his hands, and says well done. He asks if I buried his knife under the tallest tree. I say, yes, and mean to explain my thinking with the shadows and the forest but he waves me off after my yes. He asks what request I have for him. I ask for Noberto. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a desert corsage, an order from the prince Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 0
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Sep 23, 2019 21:56
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Corriere Turn 20 quote:DiceBotBOT What here is out of control? They let me in at the door and offer me what they can, and then go about their business. This must be morning for them. I wander around for a short while, looking for some company like Dr. Mill, and eventually stumble upon the main chamber at the top of the tower, where a gaggle of astronomers are feverishly working over a sprawling map of stars. The truth of the world!, one of them tells me, is in flame! Another one takes over, introduces himself as one of the chief astronomers, flashes his gilded robe, carries on talking. Flame! Old, pure, primordial. The stars. The world is full of stars, stars beyond stars beyond stars, all the way out from our earth. Not just the constellations I know, but new constellations deeper and deeper in the darkness, layer upon layer upon layer, laden with truths to experience and explore, one day, perhaps, if we can reach them. I ask how far it goes and he looks at me with joy sparking from his eyes and says that it goes on forever through space. I tell him that that can’t be right, or else the night sky would be aflame with starlight; he laughs innocently and says ah, but it is. It burns brilliantly. Can’t I see them? I should take a look in the telescope, he says. The stars are so far away that many men can’t see them without assistance. Oh, they see the old, familiar constellations, but not the dense blanket of stars between and beyond. I politely decline the offer to look in the telescope, but he’s already started sketching another star-map. What trap is laid here? I look for other company on other floors and stumble upon what seems to be another chief astronomer, sitting on the floor, staring at a wall covered with numbers, saying nothing. She looks up, open her dark mouth – ow, she says, as if it didn’t hurt at all – and turns back to the wall. I ask why she’s not at work like the first chief astronomer, busily scrawling out constellations that nobody else knows exist. She turns And says There’s no point in any of this. Time makes dust of us all. We came from dust and we will return to dust, and then that dust will be devoured. It could be devoured at any time, even! The truth is in the numbers, the theories and probabilities. There are holes in the sky, so hungry they’ll even eat light and time. There are renegade planets in the void, whole worlds that could shatter ours at any moment. There is a force so powerful it could crush the entire world, stars, sun and all, into a single point, or tear the fabric of space itself. I try to lighten the mood, tell her I can’t even imagine such things or what they look like without seeing them through a telescope with my own eyes. She looks at me with a blackness in her eyes and says that it doesn’t matter, I don’t have to, because the cold equations she has derived show that it’s true. Oh well. I’m tired, and while they work I will sleep. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 3
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Sep 24, 2019 03:32
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Allegra Turn 20 quote:I reach the City First and foremost, I deliver my missives to the palace, and my request to my Prince is swiftly acted upon, patrols of armed guards marching past me as I leave, each with one of my creditors detailed in appearance and in crimes. I return home with a smile on my face. I greet my sister and brother-in-law with great warmth, and share with them my intentions with regards his brother. I know he tends to be quiet around them from what they have told me before, so I leave them a written note and a surprise gift for him when next he visits. My good thoughts towards him, as conveyed by those nearest and dearest to us both. I try to see Norberto, and do glimpse him through the gate, but he is not permitted to speak with me, nor I him. He has grown into a fine, upstanding young man, yet his shoulders are slumped with sorrow. I fear he may be regretting his choices, but I can see no way to help him just yet. I test myself in the Orichalcum Blade Tournament, but as far as I get, I'm lacking that little bit extra that separates the good from the great. Ah well, next time. I procure gifts and messages for Cicalone but leave them with our family. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a concerned family-supportive woman, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1 AJ_Impy fucked around with this message at 19:23 on Sep 25, 2019 |
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Sep 24, 2019 22:36
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Cicalone Turn 21 quote:DiceBotBOTYesderday at The stones are what catch my attention. Laid out in a fashion unnatural to nature. Too many straight lines. Too many deliberate angles. And while the forest as begun to reclaim this area, I can tell this growth is newer. Relatively speaking. I stare at the stones for a while. At first, I think they must make up some kind of figure. Placed by, no doubt, heathen hands for some ancient heathen purpose. One that perhaps requires a bird's-eye view to properly appreciate. Curious and with some time to spare... I climb a tree. I see the outline of a star. Broken up in places. But definitely a star. How strange. Upon closer inspection, I discover that the stone lines are actually building foundations. This was once a village. Long, long ago. Why would they make the outer walls of their settlement a star, though? How strange. What needs to be restored here? The land. And it will be, either by man or by nature. Man will come back, rebuild, re-settle. Or nature will continue to grow. Weeds have already appeared through the cracks of the remaining stones. Bushes, flowers, thorns, have replaced people and their possessions. Tree roots have pushed up and slowly disrupted the once carefully laid out foundations. Who is lying in this place? I explore the surrounding area. Eventually, I discover rows of burial markers. Much like I might find back home. They buried their dead here. Whatever differences we might have had, I and these strangers, we maintained the same funeral practices. How strange. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a desert corsage, an order from the prince Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 0
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Sep 25, 2019 19:06
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Allegra Turn 21 quote:2d6k1 = (2+1) = 2 Something is wrong, very, very wrong. A pall of black smoke over some of the buildings, the scent overwhelming even the reek of the former river. The scent of cinders, the scent of smoke, and as an undercurrent, the scent of death. As I draw near I witness a shocking development, buildings gutted and ravaged by flame, rough palisades separating the old town from the new, and bodies strewn between them on the charred, flame-scoured ground. This place had gone to war with itself, the effusion of bitterness boiling over into hatred. I bivouac outside the town limits as they once were. What is eating this place? Malice born of frustration as to what it had become. the seekers of new hope and the guardians of the old ways had spilled blood, neighbours turned rivals. Now the town was a charred ruin filled with the vengeful in their armed camps. What part of this place is false? The battered old sign for the inn still swings upon its stanchion, promising rest for the weary, food and warmth. The charred ruin behind it makes the lie abundantly clear. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a concerned family-supportive woman, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Sep 25, 2019 20:28
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Corriere Turn 21 quote:DiceBotBOT I spend another night in their company, listening to ancient songs. They seem to be on the threshold of a breakthrough – hard work and late nights revealed rough and jagged patches of graffiti left long ago. Some of it even seems to be the work of past scholars, tired out of their minds by the monumental task of reading and understanding all the text. Maybe they can form a bridge between before and after – or maybe this will come to nothing. “I, Flavius, killed two deer with one arrow nearby. Remember me.” “May these towers sink into mud with my master. –a much overburdened apprentice” “We have given up. Do not bother reading the songs West to East or [indecipherable] to [indecipherable].” “This is quite high up.” - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 4 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 09:00 on Sep 26, 2019 |
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Sep 26, 2019 08:56
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Cicalone Turn 22 quote:DiceBotBOTToday at 3:56 AM Though I'm confident I'm in the same place, there are no signs of the zorse traders. Perhaps this is the wrong time of the year. But... what time of the year is it, anyhow? I feel like I'm losing my ability to keep track of time. I settle in for the night. As I wrap my blankets around myself, the tell-tale pitter-patter of rain sprinkles upon the rocks around me. And then grows louder. Louder. Louder still. Louder until I am in a torrential downpour. I hastily cover my things but, unprepared as I was for a sudden storm, I end up wet and miserable for the night. To my (admittedly grumpy) surprise, the morning brings an absolutely transformed landscape. White blooms have erupted across the strange prickly plants that make up the majority of the flora here. Butterflies fill the air. Lizards and rodents bask side by side in the sun and together drink deeply from pools of leftover rain water. If I didn't know better, I would think this was the land as it always was. But I know soon, this afternoon, tomorrow, perhaps next week, the flowers will disappear. The butterflies will go back to sleep. The animals will hide. And the world will once more wait for rain. -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a desert corsage, an order from the prince Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 2 Clarity: 0
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Sep 26, 2019 17:16
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Corriere Turn 22 quote:DiceBotBOT Strange. I remember this being much more common, but it’s died back since I last stopped here. In fact, the grass is much shallower, exposing the lichen-painted stones for the wind to scour clean. I can see the details clearer now, and trace them along a stretch of road in the fading light. They’re definitely like the ones on the walls of the oldest roads near the City--home. Horses, and… carriages. Chariots. Pompous bastards. Rows of labourers bent over rows of wheat, one material for another. A whip. The hand connecting to the whip. I take a rock and smash the wind-withered carving straight through. And another, and another, all the little tools of power, all the way down and back up the road. Shatter them. May the grass grow tall again over the ruins of this place. Because I’m a bitter shadow of the City, I change this Land. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 4
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Sep 26, 2019 18:19
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Allegra Turn 22 quote:2d6k1 = (5+2) = 5 I approach what looks from the distance to be a formidable structure, a massive military fortification, though as I draw near it appears the edifice is just a facade. No watchers stand atop the towers, the drawbridge is down and its chains solid with rust. I look inside and see a ruin, all that was of wood has rotted away or is being consumed. The structures within the walls have crumbled, and the walkways beneath the crenellations would support no weight. Nature is reclaiming this place and I in my turn claim a particularly vibrant flower. When is it always, here? It is always long after, too late to interact with whoever built and staffed this place. They left their mark, it will take centuries more to fully fade. What is feeding here? Nature thrives in the ruin, particularly climbing mosses up the interior walls, and plants growing freely in the former courtyard. Nutrients from the rock and soil, bathed in the light of the sun. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a concerned family-supportive woman, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin, a vibrant flower from a ruin reclaimed by nature. Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Sep 27, 2019 17:34
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Corriere Turn 23 quote:DiceBotBOT - I smell the sea before I see it, and when I see it I almost wish I hadn’t. Just black water under white clouds. Squat, scrubby cliffs. I find a hardy bush to tie my horse to and drape my cloak over to sleep under, start a fire, and look out. Where did the prince go? Did the caravan cross the water somehow? Turn their wagons into boats? Did they just continue along this dull shore? I’ll consider my options tomorrow. In the meantime, my dinner is ready – a bubbling brothy mix of roots with fragments of meat and hardtack. How does this place separate itself from the world? I look away and look back and I see a different land below. The tide has changed, sunk away unreasonably fast, exposing a toothy causeway of black hexagons all the way across to the horizon – and caught among those teeth, white-bellied gasping twitching stinking fish. Little streaks of white on the deep black mouth. The rock blends so well with the water and it’s easy to imagine the whole seabed here built high and thick with those black sunken towers, yet too deep even for this low tide to expose to the grey sunlight. At least there’s a way for me to cross without getting too wet, assuming the tide doesn’t thunder back in and drown me. I think about taking one of those dying fish for a meal, when a little bell rings under the cliff, and I hear the sound of feet splashing in the left-behind water as people come into view. Who tends to this place? Crooked-backed combers in heavy hooded coats stalk the causeway back and forth, prodding and plucking the unlucky fish caught in its teeth. They haul in nets and cages bound by sodden ropes to the taller pillars, and empty the flabby-spiny mix of creatures into baskets. Soon enough they’ve picked the whole place clean, except for whatever little things are crawling around the tide pools. For the first time since they emerged from under the cliffs, they stop and sit, and one of them looks up at the cliffs – and notices me. I tentatively wave, then lower my hand bit by bit. The others look up. I can see their thin, silverwhite mouths. One of them responds with a blank, cursory gesture – at least, I think were responding to me. They look away. Nothing else happens, that I can see. They bask in the fading sunlight until the bell rings again, eliciting a silent grumble from all of them before they respond to the call and drag the baskets back to the cliffs. When their footsteps have gone, I edge my way down the cliff and look back for wherever they must have come from – but there’s nothing, not the slightest sight or sound. Just the mute cliff face. Rock, grass, and mud. I chip loose a black fragment of rock and scrabble my way back up to my camp. I keep my fire burning long into the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; a chunk of black volcanic rock Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 4 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 08:48 on Sep 28, 2019 |
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Sep 27, 2019 20:54
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Allegra Turn 23 I cross paths with Cicalone. My expression brightens as I see who approaches. He still bears the bloom I gave him before, as true a gesture as any. I surrender to him the one I took from that mossy ruin as well, and ride on invigorated despite the briefness of our encounter. quote:2d6k1 = (6+5) = 6 I reach a patch of wilderness seemingly untouched by civilisation, but as I encamp by some cacti, their blooms slowly fading, I find traces that people once passed by here, horses and... something like but unlike a horse? Strange. But the traces are old, whoever it was had been diligent in their departure. Perhaps they will return, but it seems unlikely. What does this place believe? The desert exudes a sense of time and entropy. Nothing is permanent, everyone will move on, everything that once was will fade away. All is ephemeral, and will one day be dust to mingle with the sands. What here is just a dream? My rest is fitful and heavy with portent. Hoofbeats, strangely-striped equine flanks. A memory, a prediction or a fever-dream? Who can truly say. Come the morrow, I return to my own, reassuringly plain, steed, and resume my journey, let this place abide with its memories. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a concerned family-supportive woman, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin, Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 2 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 30, 2019 14:55
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Cicalone Turn 23 I add Allegra's newest gift to my corsage. I would wear a hundred flowers if she gave me a hundred. A thousand if she gave me a thousand. Ten thousand if... Our encounter is brief. I have no time to explain everything. "Noberto," I say. I smile. She smiles. I don't think she understands, though. But she will! Next time! She will see! And she will understand! quote:DiceBotBOTLast Friday at 1:16 PM What died here recently? What is learning here? The silence, like a cathedral during prayer, lulls me to a false sense of security. I decide to rest in the forest. I set up camp. Fall asleep. Dream. I almost never wake up again. Perhaps if I had laid with my head where my feet was. Or if I'd bedded down differently, a foot in any direction. Perhaps that would be the end of my story. Instead, I feel myself being dragged. I sit up and see a root wrapped around my bedding. Sliding it - and me! - across the dirt to a black hole at the base of a tree. A hole that wasn't there when I went to sleep. Quickly, I roll out of bed. I grab my things, tug on my blanket, but find my arms weaker than than strength of the tree. It sucks down my blanket. Bit by bit. Until there is nothing left. Then the root stretches back out towards me. I ride away with haste. quote:DiceBotBOTToday at 11:38 AM -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a multibloom corsage, an order from the prince Growth: 2 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 2 Clarity: 0 Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 15:36 on Oct 2, 2019 |
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Sep 30, 2019 20:13
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Corriere Turn 24 quote:DiceBotBOT What is broken here? The ice is cleanly cracked into huge pieces, each slightly different in colour, like faded stained glass. Looking upriver it’s not hard to imagine why – all that ice and water flowing down is pushing like the weight of a tower on the stones at the bottom of its walls. Speaking of towers, in the distance on the other side of the fjord I spy a tower. An abbey, it looks like, with some stables and fields and a little yard. A little trail of people is winding out and down onto the ice. Have they noticed my arrival? - Who keeps this place from changing? Monks, with mops and cloths and buckets of ice-cold water. They smile as I pass. The last one in line tells me to go to the abbey for rest and respite, and I nod in return. The abbot smiles at his window as I approach. We talk a little over a humble dinner. He seems curious about my travels – I guess they don’t get much news here in their mountain-closed little abbey. I tell him about the skeletons and fossils… Ah, the bones of angels and demons, traveller! You’re lucky to have seen them. They have no point of comparison. And to think, certain heretics claim they ascended from the creatures of the sea long ago – ascended! – and to think, this heresy is tolerated in some quarters, it strains credulity. How can people not see these majestic remnants and not understand at once that what lies there is beyond mortality? Do they want to be damned? God will not forgive-- And how about here, what is this place, I cut in. The ice out there looked smoother than still water. That can’t be natural. It’s all broken up – it should just keep breaking, shouldn’t it? It should be – thousands of millions of tiny pieces. This is our mirror for the sky, traveller. God is omnipotent, it has no point of comparison, it can’t understand things such as “I” and “not I”, but perhaps if we create a vast and perfect mirror to demonstrate to God what it is, then it will understand, and become understandable in turn, and then we will understand the mind of God. He smiles benevolently. But isn’t God beyond us, I ask. If you’re right, won’t God stop being God and start being something else? Traveller, he says with an open, toothless smile, if God becomes something else then we will serve that new creature just the same. I excuse myself and go to the quarters they’ve laid out for me. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; a chunk of black volcanic rock Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 5
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Oct 2, 2019 14:09
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Cicalone Turn 24 quote:DiceBotBOTLast Friday at 1:16 PM This place is abandoned. Yet there are huge holes in the earth. Recent ones. And many of the larger bones I saw previously are gone. The others appear to have been hastily reburied. There is also a sign, crudely painted, that reads: BE BACK NEXT SEASON DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING FOR LOVE OF SCIENCE GOD AND OR YOUR FELLOW MAN Childishly, I touch everything I can. The sign. The ground. The haphazardly tossed tools. I even unbury a small bone just to rub it between my hands. Then I put it back into the dirt and continue on my way. quote:DiceBotBOTLast Monday at 3:49 PM -- Name: Cicalone Selves: veteran of the wars, accomplished swordsman, concerned uncle, hopeless stutterer Possessions: a multibloom corsage, an order from the prince Growth: 2 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 2 Clarity: 1 Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 17:25 on Oct 2, 2019 |
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Oct 2, 2019 17:11
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Allegra Turn 24 quote:2d6k1 = (6+2) = 6 She is beautiful. From afar, I see her, weapon and flag held firm, on a massive scale. As I approach, I see figures abseiling down the crown of her head. Are they... Are they painting Her? It certainly looks that way. Bright and vibrant colours, restoring what they think her features to be, it seems. I give them a friendly wave as I go by, it is not my place to say if they are doing good or ill here. I move on, neither taking nor leaving aught but memory. Name: Allegra Selves: an identical twin, a renowned duelling fencer, a concerned family-supportive woman, Inviolate Representative of the Prince Possessions: an embroidered sash made and gifted by my twin, Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 2 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Oct 2, 2019 21:33
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Corriere Turn 25 quote:DiceBotBOT With the job done for now, I turn back through the camp. A couple of the wagons look new, and in an unfamiliar and simple style. I ask Dorigo why the change, and he tells me the Prince’s alchemist accidentally exploded himself while tinkering with his goods, and took a few wagons with him for good measure. Fortunately the horses were tied up elsewhere and the drivers were busy with dinner, so all that was lost (besides the alchemist, his reagents, and some easily-replaced supplies) were the wagons themselves. I nod thoughtfully while considering the raw power of science. My thoughts turn to home. Night falls and I’m not much in the mood for talk, for some reason. I hang back in the shadows around one of the campfires and carve the little lump of black rock I took into the rough figure of a chess knight. I speak to no-one, no-one speaks to me, but I’m here and they’re here. We’re all here. Somehow it feels a little warmer for that. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn volcanic rock chess knight Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 5
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Oct 3, 2019 10:12
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