Does the text-to-speech translate hiccups and such properly when yer drunk, DP?
Gotta teeeeest that!
[X] Goldfish
Still have the use of a mouse so I can edit them out regardless.
Does the text-to-speech translate hiccups and such properly when yer drunk, DP?
Gotta teeeeest that!
[X] Goldfish
Seconded.Ooofff, maybe make a Google docs and let the betas fill in the words over a discord call. I would be very willing to volunteer if need be. It wouldn't be a hard task.
Ooofff, maybe make a Google docs and let the betas fill in the words over a discord call. I would be very willing to volunteer if need be. It wouldn't be a hard task.
Seconded.
This is coming real close to the "if ya keep writing I leave"-clause, @DragonParadox.
Please try and find an alternative to writing yourself.
I recon you exercise enough by having to roll through stuff alone.
Here's an edited version of the chapter, DP.Paths Divided
Twentieth Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC
Lya's voice redoubles into another arcane chorus, a blessing for the divine herald, even as the power of the first remains upon you. For one blinding moment the poisoned night of the cavern is replaced with the mingled greens, blues, and gold of dawn upon the sea, Aife's form arching through the air to dance with devotion and deadly purpose. A mortal adept might have needed some sign or seal, some vessel to hold her god's will, not so the Herald of the Ferryman.
Six threads of light uncoil from her mane and glide each upon a different foe, such thin bindings for whole mountains off eldritch flesh and mad eyes. Three find their mark from the first, three cast astray by lying darkness' grip. No, only two, you realize. In this strange murk you can almost see the unnatural patterns of Qyburn's magic sway the threads of fate. No doubt a first for the Merling King's servant, but a welcome one from the appreciative look in her sea-green eyes.
Fortunately, there is more than one way to bind the foe. Blood seeps from your palm, it burns to nothing before it can strike the ground. As one of the shoggoths start crawling up the wall into some crack or crevice, you do not reach for its mind, having no taste for madness, instead you grip it in an all-encompassing net of unseen power. It is not so difficult a thing to give form to the formless.
The last of the horrors, seeing itself outmatched gives a long cacophonous keening and vanishes from sight, called forth by some unseen master.
"How considerate to give us all these samples and test subjects," Qyburn speaks aloud for once in his excitement, though there is wariness there as well. Even he, or perhaps especially he, is not at ease in this place.
"Let's make sure we don't end up their samples and bloody test subjects first," Ser Richard says gruffly. " Which way down from here?"
"Wait," Lya says looking suspiciously at the last monster, its hate filled eyes reflected and warped in the sapphire atop her staff. "Why did this one try to flee through the wall when it could just vanish or be called elsewhere?"
"Maybe whatever saved the other one wasn't ready yet," you posit, not wanting to divest yourself of such a potentially useful and expendable scout.
"I could control it more thoroughly," Qyburn offers, as a bloodmold half-crawls- half-scuttles from somewhere inside his robe. "Even work some simple alterations..."
Ser Richard gives the former maester what might for another have been a long-suffering look, but for the knight it is merely somewhat flat. "I don't trust it."
Before the flesh-smith can answer, Aife lands beside him with barely a sound on padded feet and offers unexpected support: "These creatures belong here, if they can be said to belong anywhere within the Spheres. It is their sea, so let them swim in it to our gain."
Alas, you do not have as much time as you might hope for at that very moment the stone above begins to crack and heave, great chunks of basalt raining down like knives hurled by an angry giant. When the tremors had stopped the way forward is clear as day, a gap wide enough to fit a dragon... or a shoggoth continuing upwards at an angle. But that is hardly the strange thing about it, you smell salt and sea, the true sea, not this mad alchemist's admixture of elements and faintly, ever so faintly, you hear the sound of distant chanting.
"Well if that's not a trap, I'll eat my shield raw," Ser Richard says, glancing up at the path.
You tap the Staff of the Old Gods to the stone and call to the despairing spirits of Old Wyk, a question, a call for guidance. The answer you receive is muddled, perhaps by distance, perhaps by genuine confusion. The answers you seek, the doom you wish to avert, lies both upon the strange path and down through the cold stone and the grinding ages.
Where do you go?
[] Up on the path to the sea and indistinct chanting
[] Down through the stone (requires burrow or earth glide)
Do you have Qyburn use the shoggoth?
[] Yes
-[] Write in how
[] No, let Aife bind it too
OOC: This update fought me some, a lot of things the text to speech did not know to write out so I had to type. Still only about 10% by volume of words. Not yet edited.
To this (changes highlighted):Six threads of light uncoil from her mane and glide each upon a different foe, such thin bindings for whole mountains of eldritch flesh and mad eyes. Two find their mark from the first, four cast astray by lying darkness' grip. No, only three, you realize. In is this strange murk you can almost see the unnatural patterns of Qyburn's magic sway the threads of fate. No doubt a first for the Merling King's servants, but a welcome one from the appreciative look in her sea-green eyes.
Six threads of light uncoil from her mane and glide each upon a different foe, such thin bindings for whole mountains of eldritch flesh and mad eyes. Three find their mark from the first, three cast astray by lying darkness' grip. No, only two, you realize. In this strange murk you can almost see the unnatural patterns of Qyburn's magic sway the threads of fate. No doubt a first for the Merling King's servant, but a welcome one from the appreciative look in her sea-green eyes.
Yeah, that's a huge improvement and hopefully one which will give your hands the rest they need.Eh, writing 70 odd words over span of more than an hour isn't that bad. Compare it to the 2000 plus words I would normally get out.
Yeah, that's a huge improvement and hopefully one which will give your hands the rest they need.
70 or so words over the course of an hour is practically nothing.