He then got an idea. He found the rest of the group. "Kenneth, N, may I borrow your bluestone rings? I want to test something. I promise to give them right back"
Nathan then blinked. "I am a dumbass..." He summoned his mech. "Yo, mech, can you show me where you hide when not summoned? I need both you and Impy for something, and, well, I can only summon one thing at a time"
"Ah, like the painting technique. Appropriate." N smiled inwardly. A tidbit from one of his 'cultivation' classes, his mother's attempts to make him into a proper, sociable gentlemen. Most of it failed to bleed into his habitus, but the information gained there was useful in 'small talk' research.
Nathan arrives where the group is. His clothes are in tatters and charred around the edges, his hair has smoke rising from it, him, his mech, and his imp are covered in blood, and there is the smell of charred flesh. He has a huge grin plastered on his face as he returns Lucretia's bluestone ring
N barely noticed Nathan's apocalyptic appearance. His mind was still on the burial service that priest had delivered. The priest's headdress was more passionate and emotional than his blessing on the dead was. He had a general vagueness to him; N couldn't even remember his name. Techincally, he had done all he could, but it didn't quite feel like enough.
Once again, N's mind turned to necromancy. As much as N disliked death, he had always been bothered by the lack of research on the topic. Necromancy, as terrible and disrespectful as it is to the dead, was a way to branch the living world and the dead. Considering the differing opinions on the nature of the afterlife, it bothers him that no one dared to try and bring a soul back to answer some questions. Who knows, maybe someone could perfect the revival process and create perfect immortality. It's not like there's no legal way of getting willing test subjects...
Guh. The idea of medical cadavers broke his train of thought again.
"So, Ms. Skald, how was your nap?" Just keep talking. The necromatic thoughts have to go away eventually.
"It wasn't wasted time. ...Although after that incident with the monitor golem and my fire imp, I think I have had enough of wandering off on my own for a while..."
He then licked his index and thumb and pinched some of his hair, putting out a small flame that was the source of the smoke
Kenneth had spent the entirety of the burial service in silence. He did not pray to the god to whom the priest devoted himself, but he had always found other religions interesting and felt it somewhat disrespectful to the dead to interject, even if doubt sometimes compelled him to anger. Many things angered him, but he preferred to channel the feeling into constructive things.
Whether or not Kenneth's idea of constructive activity were shared with the rest of the world never concerned him; it relieved him and kept his mind clear. Tonight he would practice cloaking himself in fire, he thought, or read on left-handed magic. His thoughts drifted to his family and back.
He closed his eyes at one point and, under his breath, he prayed to the Burning for guidance in his native language. It was the first time that he had done so in years.
When he opened them, he wondered if any had seen or heard him. He pretended not to care.
Nathan sighed. "So how was the burial service? All of them got the final rest they deserve?" His eyes wandered to the bag holding his morbid Earth Staff, wondering if maybe it was disrespectful to make that. What exactly IS respectful to a Goblin, though?
Lucretia thought back to the burial service. She knew it was the way of the Albionite, but it still unsettled her to hear souls blessed in Albion's name without also being blessed by Nuul. They went together like acid and base, invoking one without invoking the other could lead to harm. There must be balance.
Lucretia thought back to her parents and the day they exploded. At least these poor fellows received a proper burial and had earthly remains instead of exploding without leaving a trace. Come to think of it, they'd probably approve of my current work if they haven't been kicked out of the afterlife by an angry mob yet. Gosh, I miss the angry mobs. Those were good days.
"There actually used to be a martial art of sorts that revolved around bag combat, though it's closer to the gladiatorial net than these rucksacks. I should wonder what they'd think of your technique".
"They'd bow down and call me Master Nathan, King of the Bag" He does a bow, then falls over and face plants. "...If you hear any laughter in the distance, then tell me what direction so I can throw a shoe at Impy"
"Well then," said N, rubbing the Bluestone ring, " I suppose we should get going. Mr. Coal takes point, as usual."
N quite liked how his ability to communicate was coming along. His voice was still a bit stilted, but his speed was improving remarkably. Perhaps he simply needed practice all this time, practice that he refused to get.
You find yourself in a fairly small room. At one end is an imposing statue, as well as this floor's bluestone obelisk and a pair of chests, the stairs are behind the Obelisk.
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
N turns back to to Oria. "Light and Shadow? Interesting. It must be difficult to keep them from cancelling out."
(Nathan)
there is no nurse here.
The nurse has become invisible and mute!
Heeeeere, nursey nursey! Heeeere nursey nursey nursey!"
Lucretia hands her ring to Nathan. "For Science!"
(N.)
"Oh, not at all. I'm a merged wizard. What I practice might be called Gray Magic. Or Chiaroscuro Magic if you're into complex nomenclature."
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
(Nathan)
Over the next several hours, you do many wacky things, but discover that you cannot get into the Dungeon without your compatriots.
Meanwhile, the bones are delivered to the chapel, and are given a proper burial.
"Best. Day. Ever!"
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Once again, N's mind turned to necromancy. As much as N disliked death, he had always been bothered by the lack of research on the topic. Necromancy, as terrible and disrespectful as it is to the dead, was a way to branch the living world and the dead. Considering the differing opinions on the nature of the afterlife, it bothers him that no one dared to try and bring a soul back to answer some questions. Who knows, maybe someone could perfect the revival process and create perfect immortality. It's not like there's no legal way of getting willing test subjects...
Guh. The idea of medical cadavers broke his train of thought again.
"So, Ms. Skald, how was your nap?" Just keep talking. The necromatic thoughts have to go away eventually.
He then licked his index and thumb and pinched some of his hair, putting out a small flame that was the source of the smoke
Lucretia thought back to her parents and the day they exploded. At least these poor fellows received a proper burial and had earthly remains instead of exploding without leaving a trace.
Come to think of it, they'd probably approve of my current work if they haven't been kicked out of the afterlife by an angry mob yet. Gosh, I miss the angry mobs. Those were good days.
She fails to note the irony in her statement, as Nathan is, in fact, older than her, but shorter.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
N quite liked how his ability to communicate was coming along. His voice was still a bit stilted, but his speed was improving remarkably. Perhaps he simply needed practice all this time, practice that he refused to get.
"My finger just feels so wrong without it."
Several ring-swappings later, your party enters the Dungeon, descending the staircase.
After a few moments, you come across a wall of blue energy. This is the force that will transport you further down into the Dungeon.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
(N.)
The wall does not react in any way.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead