The Grey Mage
Certified Team Flare Hater
- Location
- Parallel Universe 43-j
[X] Plan Grumpy Old Mage
Rise from Your Grave (a quest to escape your afterlife)
- Thread starter AProcrastinator
- Start date
- Original Fantasy Action
The Froggy Ninja
The Blade Will Never Die
Perfectly balanced. As all things should be. If this ends up tied again I vote we end up a soul chimera with the dominant past fluctuating with our gender identity.
AProcrastinator
You can Certainly Try
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And that's three hours! Let's see, counting everyone who voted before as voting for the same stuff (so, sorry to veekie, but your second vote is not counted again), the results are...!
...guys.
...guys.
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The Froggy Ninja
The Blade Will Never Die
Looks like A Touch of Class is winning by two.
AProcrastinator
You can Certainly Try
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- Getting Somewhere
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I deeply appreciate everyone's enthusiasm. It's nice to see people are enjoying my work again.
But the vote is closed, people, and has been. Ever since I said it was. It's - we're done. The next update is being written, and has been being written ever since I closed the vote.
Please don't hurt me. I have an imaginary wife and three theoretical children.
But the vote is closed, people, and has been. Ever since I said it was. It's - we're done. The next update is being written, and has been being written ever since I closed the vote.
The Froggy Ninja
The Blade Will Never Die
I thought that was another tie though. Or are we going for the chimera idea?
AProcrastinator
You can Certainly Try
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There was another tie, yes. I was planning to just choose one myself, and surprise people with the update, after letting the hilarious-in-a-cosmic-sense second tie settle in, a bit. I wasn't expecting for people to
I'm not sure exactly where the apparent confusion entered the scene, but in any case, A Touch of Class was what I ended up choosing anyway. I have no estimation for when the next update will be done, but I am currently working on it.
The Froggy Ninja
The Blade Will Never Die
You announced the time but didn't explicitly close the vote, made more ambiguous by you commenting on it being another tie.
KitRougard
Blatant furry. Deal with it.
- Location
- wherever I feel like~
- Pronouns
- He/She
I would be remiss if I didn't at least walk in here and give my two cents about this, and proceed to lurk in the eves for the whole of the game.
May the path be long, the demons we fight many, and the blade we hold covered in ichor.
May the path be long, the demons we fight many, and the blade we hold covered in ichor.
Where did you come from?
AProcrastinator
You can Certainly Try
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- Getting Somewhere
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For those only reading the threadmarks, the first vote ended up in a tie. Twice. Somehow. So, in the end, I chose the plan that allowed for the most interesting wrinkles...
The gleam in your eyes is the sun, shone on brass, and all you can think of is flying.
Your world was Clockwork. That was its name, that was its industry, that's how it ran. That's how it flew. Prim and proper, in perfect straight lines, and flawlessly drawn circles - everything you knew was crystal geometries. The turning of the world was the turning of the gears, and the lifeblood you shared bloomed to steam. Brass veins.
You don't believe you could have been born anyworld else. Your soul was drawn to Clockwork too strongly, you see; you were too enamored with the spouting of steam. Just a touch of hot air, and – like a magic trick - the whole world took flight. Even had you been given the choice, you know you too well, and you'd never have been able to resist a peek backstage.
Your schooling was your backstage pass, then. When you left the nest, and spread your wings, you soared the skies of Lord Aquatail's Academy for the Curiosity of Youth, the most prestigious college your continent had to offer. You studied diligently, and made a name for yourself quickly, allowing no setback to overlong cloud your vision – not your lack of scholarships, nor the quirks of your upbringing, nor the eventual mutations the more volatile experiments would eventually introduce to you.
(Leaning against nothing, for the bus stop has nowhere to lean on, you reach up and scratch an itch behind your ears. The triangular pair atop your head, not the pair you were born with.)
You loved the work. And you were flawless at it! A wunderkind genius with an aptitude like no other! And not bad-looking, if you do say so yourself. (You do, and you're right.) Opportunities arranged themselves in front of you like sunflowers arrange before the sun, people desperately attempting to glimpse even a glimmer of brilliance, but -
- alas-
- you had bigger plans. You wanted that look around backstage, after all.
Other students chose… you'd call them "safe" thesis topics, were you in a mood for honesty. The use of Ether crystals in agriculture, or the history of fashion as it relates to scientific advancement, or what have you. But you, no, you wanted answers. You wanted a good, hard, long look at thermodynamics of boiling water, and why when steam bloomed from the process it let out such an excess of energy, far out of proportion with the energy that was put in.
You were advised not to, despite the fact that you were, well. You. The one and only you, magnificence incarnate, the transformer of daydreams into reality! The most volatile and promsing student they'd had in years, and yet, they told you: scholars have been studying this mystery for centuries, while you aren't even into your 23rd year! What makes you think-
- and then they couldn't even finish their sentence, because you had already chosen your thesis project, and there was no going back, now.
Cut the story short. The mystery that had stumped everybody since the beginning of science itself was nothing to you. You figured it out on the very first go!
You also, uh. Died. That was, ah, rather instrumental in putting the pieces together, as a matter of fact.
...
It is said, you've heard, that to save one person is the same as saving an entire world. That each person's own perspective is a world entirely their own.
You bled out. Your world bled with you.
You have trawled the corpse.
The mystery of steam is no mystery, here. Your world is unique, and you have always known that, long before you knew there were other worlds at all, but – there is no blooming, when water becomes vapor. There was something about steam, how it bloomed out from water, that just… isn't, down here. Isn't in any other world, so far as you can gather. Sure, heat water and you'll get steam just about anywhere you go, but you don't get that multiplicity of energy that you'd get, where you came from, anywhere else. Clockwork was, perhaps, the only world where such was possible.
There is no blooming. There is no "proper" brasswork. There are none of the tinctures which give natural and artificial crystals alike their strange glow. There isn't even a sun for you to fly too close to, anymore.
The solitary resource that "then" and "now" have in common is Ether. Soul-stuff.
It is, quite literally, everything you have.
Technique Gained: An Arm and a Leg. Robin can sacrifice Score (this game's HP) to add d4s to any check that she knows in advance of, at a rate of 1 Score to 1 die. Sacrificing Score provided by armor, enchantments, etc., will cause that Score bonus to be permanently lowered by the amount sacrificed. However, Score sacrificed from Robin's "natural" Score does not reduce his maximum Score, and can be refilled as normal.
...you know you're wallowing, but come on, you think you're entitled. The bus is late!
Urgh.
Y'know, back home, the Hummers? They were never late. Ran, heh, like clockwork. Hummers, or, Humming Copter, to use the full name. These great bronze birds, as wide as three houses and as long as a street. Things of clockwork, with a giant Ether crystal where the beak should be – that was why they hummed: the Ether crystals. That was how they were powered. Crystal and steam, and, from the driver, pedaling, which was magnified and multiplied, beating the great brass wings hundreds of times a second.
And so they'd fly.
You would sit in one's belly, with many other people. It wouldn't just be seats, though, no; they'd be booths, with privacy curtains. A beautiful table, with fine porcelain, so you might boil your own tea on the voyage. And music, gently, through the speakers.
And down, down, down down down below, there'd be the view of the world. Wide, wide windows, and the sun streaming through, and the whole grand city of Intervale was spread out like the pages of a book named Clockwork. There, right there, for the reading. Like there was nowhere you weren't allowed to go.
The Hummers sort of exemplify everything you miss, you realize. You've said as much before: the Underworld was not constructed as some sort of place of punishment.
But you'd never guess that from the state of its public transportation.
The bus remains late. It is always late. It has never once been on time - you've checked. It is loud, on approach, the brakes a horrific squeal, both inwardly and outwardly; that you've gotten used to the noise is not a mercy but an indictment. It is slow, compared to the Humming Copters, and often, compared to walking, and certainly, it cannot fly. All you can ever see from the windows is at ground level. Ground zero, perhaps.
This is the danger of reminding yourself of the world up above, especially when you have nothing else to do but wait around. It's not that you won't come back down from flying, it's-
...it's that you'll fall.
...you remember, when you were very young, you tugged on your mother's dress and told her that you wanted "to fly! Like Mr. Blick!" when you grew up. Your mother had smiled at the notion, and said it was a childish flight of fancy, and she grinned at her little joke, or else at you; you were the most adorable of scamps, after all. Still are!
But you had assured her that you weren't going to grow out of it. That was what you wanted out of life: to fly one of the Humming Copters. The passengers were immaterial, the fare was nothing, and the uniform was ~snazzy~ enough, but you wanted to test the limits of the sky. You'd drive the routes faithfully, you'd said, and then after you got off work, you'd take the Hummers out looking for adventures. Maybe even fight sky pirates!
Your mother had laughed. Again, you didn't blame her, again, the most adorable at mischief. But she told you that this – the dreaming - was something you'd grow out of. Adults were more worldly, she told you, more focused. More down-to-earth. They didn't have time to imagine taking government property on personal joyrides.
You, in turn, had gotten very reasonably upset at this, and not at all pouty, and you'd told her, nuh uh, I'll totally become a Hummer Pilot (you'd capitalized it in your head because it was Important), just you wait and see! You'd never give up on your aspirations! Cross your heart and hope to die, this sometimes boy would grow to fly!
Then, all at once, in the summertime, before either of you had the chance to prove your point, the Humming Copters went and got themselves automated. Mr. Blick and Robin Greene both suddenly found themselves out of a job.
...you wonder what happened to the poor old man, afterwards. He didn't end up down here; you know that much. Maybe he -
"Maybe ya wanna get on, 'stead of just standin' there?"
You blink.
It's not that you were startled, exactly, just now. Being "startled" is for children who have not learned to compose themselves, small prey animals, and supervillains who don't do a good job finishing off their nemesis. What you were was… away. You were away, and now you have been called back. You were made aware of the doorbell; that's the proper term.
You take stock. You did not jump in startlement, as you were not startled, so you're still in the same pose you were before. Standing straight, staring ahead, hand on chin, elbow in hand. All your extremities – two arms, two legs, four ears – seem to be there. You are surrounded by red ground, and that red ground is surrounded by buildings.
Surprisingly, there is a large metal vehicle in front of you. A bus, some might call it. The door is open, and the driver is, not quite staring at you, but certainly not blinking.
Ah, right, you remember. There had been a world around me, hadn't there?
...
"...do y'wanna get on, or-?"
"I'm thinking about it."
The door begins closing.
"I've thought about it!" you say, all smiles, sticking an arm – owie – between the door and its frame. "I would absolutely adore coming along for the ride."
"Glad ya could grace us with yer presence," the driver says, face neutral, opening the door.
"I was told there were prayers in need of answering," You say, as though you do not sense, in a sort of distant way, how very close you were to being dragged down several blocks by the arm. "So here I am! Your very own, one-of-a-kind, personal miracle."
"Get on, already?"
"Well, you can't rush perfection, can you?~" You do step in, but only after waggling your eyebrows. There is protocol to be followed, after all.
"Eh, maybe yer right." The door lightly thwaps you on the butt, as it shuts. You're positive – either driver or bus, somebody's the culprit – that it was purposeful. "Sure seems like I can rush you easy enough, tho'."
"A thousand pardons, my man of honor." You flash the driver an award-winning smile, which hopefully distracts from you rubbing your behind. "But I fear I must be untethering from reality, right before your very eyes. I could've sworn – taken it under oath! - that you had said something about me not being the afterworld-certified 100% bestest thing to ever happen to this bus stop, including the bus!" A light chuckle, a bend at the waist. "You wouldn't mind bringing me back to shore, would you, now, Joe?"
Joe Specklefur. A class act. A stand-up fellow. Though he takes no nonsense (no matter how often you might give it), he is a kind man of manners who anyone would be delighted to count among their inner circle.
He's also a mouse.
A literal mouse, gray with white spots, with big eyes and bigger ears. He's a bit overweight, and wears nothing but a bus driver's jacket and hat. Well, that and a pair of tiny spectacles that rests of the bridge of his muzzle, but they're honestly a bit hard to see, they're so small. You've, ah, never been quite sure how he reaches the wheel? Whenever the bus starts moving, some fancy tapestry of some sort rolls down between him and his passengers. Dead you may be, but you still feel somehow like peeking behind that particular curtain would be courting death.
"Bring ya back to..." He mouths the words, more than actually says them. "...y'know, lady, 'm startin' to get the idea ya like playin' with mice."
"Now, what on earth would make you think that?" you ask, picture perfect innocent curiosity.
Joe stares at you for a while. Eventually, his eyes drift upwards.
Your cat ears, poking out from the holes in the brim of your hat, twitch. Just once.
Joe's gaze slowly drops back to yours, where his eyes meet eyes the colors of brass, with pupils slit, catlike. And he stares. "Jus' a feelin'."
"How terribly taxonomist." You shake your head as you straighten. "I'm disappointed in you, Joe. I expect better from my public servants."
Trait Gained: Cattiness is in My DNA. Following a tragic lab accident back in college, your DNA was spliced with that of a common housecat, giving you night vision, an extra pair of ears, and a certain exotic je ne sais quoi that made you quite the catch around campus. Apparently, this little oopsy got so twisted up with your self-identity, it carried over into your very soul! You're still waiting on the claws, though.
He actually laughs. You count it as the first victory of today's many. "Where'd'ya even find all this energy, kid?"
"I drink my "Honey," and eat my vegetables."
A scoff. One which sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. "That was all it took, there'd be a lot more'a you 'miracles' around."
"Well, obviously, that's not all I do," you preen, settling back on one leg, positioning to prop the other on a nearby railing. "Proper exercise is also a key component of living well, and naturally, I set an alarm every morning to-"
"YO! GIRLIE!" somebody shouts from somewhere in the back of the bus, miles and miles away. "Sit yer ass down already! Some of us got places we gotta BE, ya know!"
You look, mild, into the cheap seats, for several seconds, before 'tsk, tsk, tsk'ing, hands on your hips, and turning back to the driver. "Some people," you lament, decidedly not moving to sit down. "No sense of theater."
"Y'know, statistic'ly speakin'," the mouse says, just as mild, "Somebody here's gotta have tomatoes they can throw at ya."
"I don't doubt it," you say, sighing, forlorn, hand to cheek, "But I'm sad to say I've just got no faith in my fellow hellions' aim. I'd have been hit more often, you'd think."
The voice in the back groans in frustration, and he isn't the only one. But you also hear multiple other people chuckling, so ha, ha, and ha. Suck on that.
Joe, victory number two, is among them: "A'ight, a'ight, curtains closed," he says, all stern, save the tiny smile on his tiny face. "Park it."
"Exit stage left, it is!" you chirp, peacock-bright, and wander out into your adoring public.
...which is to say, not at all into your adoring public, if you have anything to say about it, because if you're really lucky, once in a multicolored moon, you can sometimes find a seat on the bus that's fully vacated, but not swallowed up by the shrinking sides ye – THERE'S one!
You plop down as the bus begins moving, back against the window, top hat slipping over your eyes, and stretching, legs crossed over each other, to take over the whole seat. Cross your arms, too, behind your head, and – there it is. The absolute height of decadent, hedonistic luxury. Listen to that, you've even got yourself purring! It's almost a shame to leave it all for a sit-down on the roof about two and one half blocks from here.
Almost.
Let's see, now. Exercise. Diet. Alarms. Further back, a kick in the pants. What exactly were you pondering, before..?
Ah. Of course. The nature of public transportation. The Bus is terrible, and wonderful, and also your only friend, here in the cold arms of death.
...it's a shame there's no weather around here, because that would have been an exquisite place for thunder. Hrm. An artificial cloud storage platform, for strategic thunderclaps? Steam and cloud are apparently the same thing, after a fashion, and -
Anyway. The bus is awful. You may have only just remembered that about this place, but it's absolutely true. It's noisy, and terribly inefficient, and packed besides. Packed by nature: it's always the same size on the outside, but on the inside, it's enchanted to be just as big as it needs to be to fit everybody. It smells like cooking with too many spices (peppermint is not a spice, except on the bus, apparently), the chairs are made of a material so hard and unyielding they probably make politician's hearts out of it, and the driver never even allows you the dignity of paying for your trip! Every day when you get home, you resolve never to take the bus again, and then every morning after, you somehow completely forget every single promise regarding sardine cans on wheels that you've ever made to yourself until after you sit down again.
Then again, Joe never seems to remember that you're always going to try and climb out onto the roof for some fresh air, about two blocks into the trip, no matter how much he yells at you about it when you get off. So maybe buses just give people amnesia.
(You're gonna hurt yourself! the little rat always says, after you hop down, and you always find it hilarious, because, heh, come on. As if. No chance. Maybe some other hooligan with more adrenaline than sense might give themselves a second death, but you're far too principled for that. There's no way in hell you're going to do something to mar your flawless face.)
(...ignore, ah. The way you died.)
But then again, you think, as you reach behind you to unlock the window, the bus is wonderful. It's just wonderful in all the ways it wasn't designed for, is all! It's a great place for catnaps, one of the only places around that allows you to feel the wind in your hair, it allows you to show off your snark in public without major fear of reprisal, and most of all, it gives you a front-seat view of the one and only thing that actually changes, down here.
The others. All the restless spirits, flittering to and fro. Each one, whether they realize it or not, dragging tiny pieces of the worlds they came from behind them. Little magics, subtle shapes. Puzzle pieces lost in the couch cushions of death.
Fascinating.
What can you say? You're a people person, at heart. And at mind, well, you've always been a student. When your dreams of soaring the sky came crashing to the ground, after all, you dedicated yourself to the study of natural phenomena.
For all that this isn't your world, and these aren't your phenomena, they're phenomena, all the same. And you are an excellent study.
...but not today, you think. The darkness the inside of your hat allows is far too inviting, today.
You never work with your eyes open, after all. The teensy, fiddly bits of reality you build with are better pictured in your mind's eye, rather than squinted at beneath a lamplight. Even the bigger parts, it doesn't do to pay too much attention to their actual dimensions, you find; better to just know how things should be, and work from there.
You work from here. A screwdriver emerges from your pocket, and you position it between two fingers, letting your eyes fall gently shut. There's still a handful of stops to go before you're really expected at your rooftop reservation, after all.
And then, with a gentle breath, you begin to tinker.
Ether is here. Even if steam does not bloom like it should, even if brass isn't properly resilient, and even if certain things you grew up with don't exist down here, sometimes Ether is enough. Heck, sometimes its abundance allows for designs that simply… never would've worked, in the before now. So it is with the invention you're putting the screws to – the one you're currently wearing. So it is, with the final reminder of where you came from:
[] The Armoires. As water becomes steam, mass becomes energy, and soul becomes solid. Taking advantage of the fact that the entire Underworld is made of spirit, these oversized gauntlets can store inanimate objects as Ether patterns, keeping themselves the same "actual" weight (for carrying purposes) but gaining effective mass (for the purposes of punching good). +1 to Strength, free Perk involving increased inventory space and punching power.
[] Your Vestment. Usually, the steam given off by Clockwork designs is simple waste product - the natural result of the gathering of heat energy with water as a medium. Down here, though, the process that makes steam isn't nearly as powerful a resource. Perhaps the idea, then, is to turn the process on its head? This complicated piece of clothing boils on command various poultices - antidotes, anesthesias, adrenalines, and so on - and breathing the steam that's produced can have a wonderful variety of effects. +1 to Constitution, free Resource involving healing and stamina.
[] A Chronocelerator. The hands on this pocketwatch run frightfully fast: multiple hours pass in less than a second. Yet, funny thing: it keeps perfectly accurate time. Using this device allows you to "compress" time, giving you effective superhuman movement at any time (heh) you wish. On the surface, using one of these for even a few seconds would shorten your effective lifespan for years, but, ah, seeing as how you're already dead... +1 to Dexterity, free Trait involving increased speed and time dilation.
[] Crystal Chamelons. This set of jewelry passively projects its wearer's self-image over their actual self, turning confidence and self-esteem into actual, tangible alteration of appearance. Now, to a being who is only a soul, their self-image is what they look like, anyway, making a device like this useless to most people down here. However, with just a little bit of focus, a firm will, and a touch of tinkering, you've managed to create a modified version which allows you to look like anything you want, at any time. +1 to Charisma, free Technique involving disguises and deceptions.
It's a thing a work in progress, straddling the line between working perfectly and falling apart. But it does work. Performs all its functions exactly the way you envisioned. It works, at the very minimum, and doesn't appear to have any serious side effects, in testing.
But it isn't perfect. And therefore, no matter how fashionable it looks on your frame, it isn't you.
But then again, who better than you, right? Who better to cast out this thing's flaws, soar to the skies, and summit the mountain, attaining the truth that your invention was always destined for. Or – put it another way. Who else could?
Perfection takes time, though. That isn't a major obstacle; you're nothing but time, nowadays. Still, it's a thing to ponder, and fiddle with, and endeavor towards, here in the darkness. You're sure you'll put it down soon, but in the moment, you've just about… got...
The smell of peppermint intensifies, overpowering all others, and you find yourself cracking an eye beneath your tipped-up top hat, to take a look.
There's a girl up at the front, which is unusual. People don't often get on, at these handful of stops. You usually take someone getting on as the signal for you making your great escape, as a matter of fact.
"AH!" the girl says. Well, exclaims. Well, screams, really. "You're – mouse?!"
"I'm mouse," Joe is mouse.
"Oh." She is silent, for a second. "Hello, mouse?"
"Name's Joe."
"Gotcha. Ha, ha. Um."
She's a very light blue, the young woman, but slightly off blue, as well? You're not certain that's the right term, but it's what enters your mind. She's got a janitor's uniform on, in a darker blue, almost black. Can't quite make out more details, at this distance.
Joe gathers information for you. "You got a name?" Teensy pause, from teensy paws. "S'alright if you don't."
"I, uh-just met you?" Points for originality, points deducted for awkwardability. "Sorry. Uhhhhhh how much. To ride?"
"...nah," says Joe, "Don't even worry 'bout it. Go 'head and siddown. 'S'free for everybody."
It is? Huh. And here you thought you were special. Go figure.
"Alright," the girl breathes, and bows. "Th-thank you."
And she must turn, and begin walking down the aisle, but you miss it, because you're busy rearranging yourself. You're finding yourself sitting up, setting your tools aside, and trying to get a better look. Trying to see what this girl's deal is.
The off-blue becomes obvious as she gets in closer – she's dusted in sugar. Head to toe. It could technically be another white powder, but you don't think that's the case, not with candy corn in her grimace and gumdrops for freckles. There are all kinds of sweets, as a matter of fact, spiraling up and down her arms like strange tattoos, and her fingernails are made of rock candy. Her hair is black licorice that curls up at the ends. And her eyes are...
...wide, and looking around, ceaselessly, paranoid. She looks… she looks like she doesn't know where she's at.
Like she isn't used to being surrounded.
Ah, it clicks, at long last. It's her first day dead.
That's always rough. And it must have been why Joe backed off, the way he did. There are lots of awful people, down here in the awful after, but all of them have been through the same thing – it's rare that even the worst of them will intrude on a person's private panic attack, once they figure out what's going on.
You think for a moment.
The bus is as crowded as ever, and the nature of its seating arrangements mean that the only open seats are those next to somebody. You don't know whoever this lady is all that well, but you get the sense that she's not the type to go sitting next to strangers, even in - especially in - this kind of situation. At least, not without them inviting her to.
...the seat next to you is empty.
You could, couldn't you?
[] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal. (New friend, free skill. Skills are a bit like stats, but more specialized.)
[] The lack of sun. The stillness of the air. The endless horizon that's probably somewhere behind all the buildings. They call. You answer. Bus roof, here you come! (New locations to explore, continue the running gag with the bus driver.)
[] You were really on the verge of something, here, you think. And besides, you were comfortable. You sense you'll have to skip on the top deck to avoid further disrupting your concentration, but you think you can refine your work just that hair more… (Your chosen invention provides an extra +1 to your chosen stat. The bonus from your invention can raise a Stat above its Level One cap.)
[] You know what? You really didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe you don't need any, but you sure as where you're sitting want some. Time to catch some more Zs. (Next update, you'll be buying your Stats. This option will provide a few bonus points to spend.)
Usually I'd allow for write-ins in a situation as open-ended as this, but we haven't gotten to the point where you've solidified your Stats, yet. I can't let you go off the rails until you've at least got the wheels under you, if you get my lack-of-drift.
If you couldn't tell I was making it up as I went before, we're already not using the plan format for this update. Just vote for what you want! And yes, you can vote for more than one thing, if you like. Voting will close in 24 hours, and I will break any ties.
Also also, feel free to give me constructive criticism, either now or as the quest continues. I am very rusty, and was not a perfect writer even before myyear-long depressive spiral break. I welcome the opportunity to improve!
[] Plan A Touch of Class
-[] Girl, currently
-[] Young Adulthood. Cut down in the prime of your life. Things were just getting started, when they came to an end.
-[] Smirking. "Cocky" is a strong term. But then again, you leave a strong impact, so hey! - cock away!
-[] Crystal and Brass - Yours was a world of wonder and innovation! Of taking the best of ethereal phenomena and natural philosophy and combining them into something greater than the sum of its parts! There is much you miss from your world, the hum of Ether through nearby mechanisms, the sounds of ticking clockwork and working people. But mostly you miss the vigor and wonder of it all. +1 Int and Wis
-[] You have to finish what you started - Yes, technically your thesis project malfunctioned and killed you, but the way it killed you was very educational, and what you now know would surely change the world for the better, once refined with some safer experiments.
-[] Robin Greene
-[] Girl, currently
-[] Young Adulthood. Cut down in the prime of your life. Things were just getting started, when they came to an end.
-[] Smirking. "Cocky" is a strong term. But then again, you leave a strong impact, so hey! - cock away!
-[] Crystal and Brass - Yours was a world of wonder and innovation! Of taking the best of ethereal phenomena and natural philosophy and combining them into something greater than the sum of its parts! There is much you miss from your world, the hum of Ether through nearby mechanisms, the sounds of ticking clockwork and working people. But mostly you miss the vigor and wonder of it all. +1 Int and Wis
-[] You have to finish what you started - Yes, technically your thesis project malfunctioned and killed you, but the way it killed you was very educational, and what you now know would surely change the world for the better, once refined with some safer experiments.
-[] Robin Greene
The gleam in your eyes is the sun, shone on brass, and all you can think of is flying.
Your world was Clockwork. That was its name, that was its industry, that's how it ran. That's how it flew. Prim and proper, in perfect straight lines, and flawlessly drawn circles - everything you knew was crystal geometries. The turning of the world was the turning of the gears, and the lifeblood you shared bloomed to steam. Brass veins.
You don't believe you could have been born anyworld else. Your soul was drawn to Clockwork too strongly, you see; you were too enamored with the spouting of steam. Just a touch of hot air, and – like a magic trick - the whole world took flight. Even had you been given the choice, you know you too well, and you'd never have been able to resist a peek backstage.
Your schooling was your backstage pass, then. When you left the nest, and spread your wings, you soared the skies of Lord Aquatail's Academy for the Curiosity of Youth, the most prestigious college your continent had to offer. You studied diligently, and made a name for yourself quickly, allowing no setback to overlong cloud your vision – not your lack of scholarships, nor the quirks of your upbringing, nor the eventual mutations the more volatile experiments would eventually introduce to you.
(Leaning against nothing, for the bus stop has nowhere to lean on, you reach up and scratch an itch behind your ears. The triangular pair atop your head, not the pair you were born with.)
You loved the work. And you were flawless at it! A wunderkind genius with an aptitude like no other! And not bad-looking, if you do say so yourself. (You do, and you're right.) Opportunities arranged themselves in front of you like sunflowers arrange before the sun, people desperately attempting to glimpse even a glimmer of brilliance, but -
- alas-
- you had bigger plans. You wanted that look around backstage, after all.
Other students chose… you'd call them "safe" thesis topics, were you in a mood for honesty. The use of Ether crystals in agriculture, or the history of fashion as it relates to scientific advancement, or what have you. But you, no, you wanted answers. You wanted a good, hard, long look at thermodynamics of boiling water, and why when steam bloomed from the process it let out such an excess of energy, far out of proportion with the energy that was put in.
You were advised not to, despite the fact that you were, well. You. The one and only you, magnificence incarnate, the transformer of daydreams into reality! The most volatile and promsing student they'd had in years, and yet, they told you: scholars have been studying this mystery for centuries, while you aren't even into your 23rd year! What makes you think-
- and then they couldn't even finish their sentence, because you had already chosen your thesis project, and there was no going back, now.
Cut the story short. The mystery that had stumped everybody since the beginning of science itself was nothing to you. You figured it out on the very first go!
You also, uh. Died. That was, ah, rather instrumental in putting the pieces together, as a matter of fact.
...
It is said, you've heard, that to save one person is the same as saving an entire world. That each person's own perspective is a world entirely their own.
You bled out. Your world bled with you.
You have trawled the corpse.
The mystery of steam is no mystery, here. Your world is unique, and you have always known that, long before you knew there were other worlds at all, but – there is no blooming, when water becomes vapor. There was something about steam, how it bloomed out from water, that just… isn't, down here. Isn't in any other world, so far as you can gather. Sure, heat water and you'll get steam just about anywhere you go, but you don't get that multiplicity of energy that you'd get, where you came from, anywhere else. Clockwork was, perhaps, the only world where such was possible.
There is no blooming. There is no "proper" brasswork. There are none of the tinctures which give natural and artificial crystals alike their strange glow. There isn't even a sun for you to fly too close to, anymore.
The solitary resource that "then" and "now" have in common is Ether. Soul-stuff.
It is, quite literally, everything you have.
Technique Gained: An Arm and a Leg. Robin can sacrifice Score (this game's HP) to add d4s to any check that she knows in advance of, at a rate of 1 Score to 1 die. Sacrificing Score provided by armor, enchantments, etc., will cause that Score bonus to be permanently lowered by the amount sacrificed. However, Score sacrificed from Robin's "natural" Score does not reduce his maximum Score, and can be refilled as normal.
...you know you're wallowing, but come on, you think you're entitled. The bus is late!
Urgh.
Y'know, back home, the Hummers? They were never late. Ran, heh, like clockwork. Hummers, or, Humming Copter, to use the full name. These great bronze birds, as wide as three houses and as long as a street. Things of clockwork, with a giant Ether crystal where the beak should be – that was why they hummed: the Ether crystals. That was how they were powered. Crystal and steam, and, from the driver, pedaling, which was magnified and multiplied, beating the great brass wings hundreds of times a second.
And so they'd fly.
You would sit in one's belly, with many other people. It wouldn't just be seats, though, no; they'd be booths, with privacy curtains. A beautiful table, with fine porcelain, so you might boil your own tea on the voyage. And music, gently, through the speakers.
And down, down, down down down below, there'd be the view of the world. Wide, wide windows, and the sun streaming through, and the whole grand city of Intervale was spread out like the pages of a book named Clockwork. There, right there, for the reading. Like there was nowhere you weren't allowed to go.
The Hummers sort of exemplify everything you miss, you realize. You've said as much before: the Underworld was not constructed as some sort of place of punishment.
But you'd never guess that from the state of its public transportation.
The bus remains late. It is always late. It has never once been on time - you've checked. It is loud, on approach, the brakes a horrific squeal, both inwardly and outwardly; that you've gotten used to the noise is not a mercy but an indictment. It is slow, compared to the Humming Copters, and often, compared to walking, and certainly, it cannot fly. All you can ever see from the windows is at ground level. Ground zero, perhaps.
This is the danger of reminding yourself of the world up above, especially when you have nothing else to do but wait around. It's not that you won't come back down from flying, it's-
...it's that you'll fall.
...you remember, when you were very young, you tugged on your mother's dress and told her that you wanted "to fly! Like Mr. Blick!" when you grew up. Your mother had smiled at the notion, and said it was a childish flight of fancy, and she grinned at her little joke, or else at you; you were the most adorable of scamps, after all. Still are!
But you had assured her that you weren't going to grow out of it. That was what you wanted out of life: to fly one of the Humming Copters. The passengers were immaterial, the fare was nothing, and the uniform was ~snazzy~ enough, but you wanted to test the limits of the sky. You'd drive the routes faithfully, you'd said, and then after you got off work, you'd take the Hummers out looking for adventures. Maybe even fight sky pirates!
Your mother had laughed. Again, you didn't blame her, again, the most adorable at mischief. But she told you that this – the dreaming - was something you'd grow out of. Adults were more worldly, she told you, more focused. More down-to-earth. They didn't have time to imagine taking government property on personal joyrides.
You, in turn, had gotten very reasonably upset at this, and not at all pouty, and you'd told her, nuh uh, I'll totally become a Hummer Pilot (you'd capitalized it in your head because it was Important), just you wait and see! You'd never give up on your aspirations! Cross your heart and hope to die, this sometimes boy would grow to fly!
Then, all at once, in the summertime, before either of you had the chance to prove your point, the Humming Copters went and got themselves automated. Mr. Blick and Robin Greene both suddenly found themselves out of a job.
...you wonder what happened to the poor old man, afterwards. He didn't end up down here; you know that much. Maybe he -
"Maybe ya wanna get on, 'stead of just standin' there?"
You blink.
It's not that you were startled, exactly, just now. Being "startled" is for children who have not learned to compose themselves, small prey animals, and supervillains who don't do a good job finishing off their nemesis. What you were was… away. You were away, and now you have been called back. You were made aware of the doorbell; that's the proper term.
You take stock. You did not jump in startlement, as you were not startled, so you're still in the same pose you were before. Standing straight, staring ahead, hand on chin, elbow in hand. All your extremities – two arms, two legs, four ears – seem to be there. You are surrounded by red ground, and that red ground is surrounded by buildings.
Surprisingly, there is a large metal vehicle in front of you. A bus, some might call it. The door is open, and the driver is, not quite staring at you, but certainly not blinking.
Ah, right, you remember. There had been a world around me, hadn't there?
...
"...do y'wanna get on, or-?"
"I'm thinking about it."
The door begins closing.
"I've thought about it!" you say, all smiles, sticking an arm – owie – between the door and its frame. "I would absolutely adore coming along for the ride."
"Glad ya could grace us with yer presence," the driver says, face neutral, opening the door.
"I was told there were prayers in need of answering," You say, as though you do not sense, in a sort of distant way, how very close you were to being dragged down several blocks by the arm. "So here I am! Your very own, one-of-a-kind, personal miracle."
"Get on, already?"
"Well, you can't rush perfection, can you?~" You do step in, but only after waggling your eyebrows. There is protocol to be followed, after all.
"Eh, maybe yer right." The door lightly thwaps you on the butt, as it shuts. You're positive – either driver or bus, somebody's the culprit – that it was purposeful. "Sure seems like I can rush you easy enough, tho'."
"A thousand pardons, my man of honor." You flash the driver an award-winning smile, which hopefully distracts from you rubbing your behind. "But I fear I must be untethering from reality, right before your very eyes. I could've sworn – taken it under oath! - that you had said something about me not being the afterworld-certified 100% bestest thing to ever happen to this bus stop, including the bus!" A light chuckle, a bend at the waist. "You wouldn't mind bringing me back to shore, would you, now, Joe?"
Joe Specklefur. A class act. A stand-up fellow. Though he takes no nonsense (no matter how often you might give it), he is a kind man of manners who anyone would be delighted to count among their inner circle.
He's also a mouse.
A literal mouse, gray with white spots, with big eyes and bigger ears. He's a bit overweight, and wears nothing but a bus driver's jacket and hat. Well, that and a pair of tiny spectacles that rests of the bridge of his muzzle, but they're honestly a bit hard to see, they're so small. You've, ah, never been quite sure how he reaches the wheel? Whenever the bus starts moving, some fancy tapestry of some sort rolls down between him and his passengers. Dead you may be, but you still feel somehow like peeking behind that particular curtain would be courting death.
"Bring ya back to..." He mouths the words, more than actually says them. "...y'know, lady, 'm startin' to get the idea ya like playin' with mice."
"Now, what on earth would make you think that?" you ask, picture perfect innocent curiosity.
Joe stares at you for a while. Eventually, his eyes drift upwards.
Your cat ears, poking out from the holes in the brim of your hat, twitch. Just once.
Joe's gaze slowly drops back to yours, where his eyes meet eyes the colors of brass, with pupils slit, catlike. And he stares. "Jus' a feelin'."
"How terribly taxonomist." You shake your head as you straighten. "I'm disappointed in you, Joe. I expect better from my public servants."
Trait Gained: Cattiness is in My DNA. Following a tragic lab accident back in college, your DNA was spliced with that of a common housecat, giving you night vision, an extra pair of ears, and a certain exotic je ne sais quoi that made you quite the catch around campus. Apparently, this little oopsy got so twisted up with your self-identity, it carried over into your very soul! You're still waiting on the claws, though.
He actually laughs. You count it as the first victory of today's many. "Where'd'ya even find all this energy, kid?"
"I drink my "Honey," and eat my vegetables."
A scoff. One which sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. "That was all it took, there'd be a lot more'a you 'miracles' around."
"Well, obviously, that's not all I do," you preen, settling back on one leg, positioning to prop the other on a nearby railing. "Proper exercise is also a key component of living well, and naturally, I set an alarm every morning to-"
"YO! GIRLIE!" somebody shouts from somewhere in the back of the bus, miles and miles away. "Sit yer ass down already! Some of us got places we gotta BE, ya know!"
You look, mild, into the cheap seats, for several seconds, before 'tsk, tsk, tsk'ing, hands on your hips, and turning back to the driver. "Some people," you lament, decidedly not moving to sit down. "No sense of theater."
"Y'know, statistic'ly speakin'," the mouse says, just as mild, "Somebody here's gotta have tomatoes they can throw at ya."
"I don't doubt it," you say, sighing, forlorn, hand to cheek, "But I'm sad to say I've just got no faith in my fellow hellions' aim. I'd have been hit more often, you'd think."
The voice in the back groans in frustration, and he isn't the only one. But you also hear multiple other people chuckling, so ha, ha, and ha. Suck on that.
Joe, victory number two, is among them: "A'ight, a'ight, curtains closed," he says, all stern, save the tiny smile on his tiny face. "Park it."
"Exit stage left, it is!" you chirp, peacock-bright, and wander out into your adoring public.
...which is to say, not at all into your adoring public, if you have anything to say about it, because if you're really lucky, once in a multicolored moon, you can sometimes find a seat on the bus that's fully vacated, but not swallowed up by the shrinking sides ye – THERE'S one!
You plop down as the bus begins moving, back against the window, top hat slipping over your eyes, and stretching, legs crossed over each other, to take over the whole seat. Cross your arms, too, behind your head, and – there it is. The absolute height of decadent, hedonistic luxury. Listen to that, you've even got yourself purring! It's almost a shame to leave it all for a sit-down on the roof about two and one half blocks from here.
Almost.
Let's see, now. Exercise. Diet. Alarms. Further back, a kick in the pants. What exactly were you pondering, before..?
Ah. Of course. The nature of public transportation. The Bus is terrible, and wonderful, and also your only friend, here in the cold arms of death.
...it's a shame there's no weather around here, because that would have been an exquisite place for thunder. Hrm. An artificial cloud storage platform, for strategic thunderclaps? Steam and cloud are apparently the same thing, after a fashion, and -
Anyway. The bus is awful. You may have only just remembered that about this place, but it's absolutely true. It's noisy, and terribly inefficient, and packed besides. Packed by nature: it's always the same size on the outside, but on the inside, it's enchanted to be just as big as it needs to be to fit everybody. It smells like cooking with too many spices (peppermint is not a spice, except on the bus, apparently), the chairs are made of a material so hard and unyielding they probably make politician's hearts out of it, and the driver never even allows you the dignity of paying for your trip! Every day when you get home, you resolve never to take the bus again, and then every morning after, you somehow completely forget every single promise regarding sardine cans on wheels that you've ever made to yourself until after you sit down again.
Then again, Joe never seems to remember that you're always going to try and climb out onto the roof for some fresh air, about two blocks into the trip, no matter how much he yells at you about it when you get off. So maybe buses just give people amnesia.
(You're gonna hurt yourself! the little rat always says, after you hop down, and you always find it hilarious, because, heh, come on. As if. No chance. Maybe some other hooligan with more adrenaline than sense might give themselves a second death, but you're far too principled for that. There's no way in hell you're going to do something to mar your flawless face.)
(...ignore, ah. The way you died.)
But then again, you think, as you reach behind you to unlock the window, the bus is wonderful. It's just wonderful in all the ways it wasn't designed for, is all! It's a great place for catnaps, one of the only places around that allows you to feel the wind in your hair, it allows you to show off your snark in public without major fear of reprisal, and most of all, it gives you a front-seat view of the one and only thing that actually changes, down here.
The others. All the restless spirits, flittering to and fro. Each one, whether they realize it or not, dragging tiny pieces of the worlds they came from behind them. Little magics, subtle shapes. Puzzle pieces lost in the couch cushions of death.
Fascinating.
What can you say? You're a people person, at heart. And at mind, well, you've always been a student. When your dreams of soaring the sky came crashing to the ground, after all, you dedicated yourself to the study of natural phenomena.
For all that this isn't your world, and these aren't your phenomena, they're phenomena, all the same. And you are an excellent study.
...but not today, you think. The darkness the inside of your hat allows is far too inviting, today.
You never work with your eyes open, after all. The teensy, fiddly bits of reality you build with are better pictured in your mind's eye, rather than squinted at beneath a lamplight. Even the bigger parts, it doesn't do to pay too much attention to their actual dimensions, you find; better to just know how things should be, and work from there.
You work from here. A screwdriver emerges from your pocket, and you position it between two fingers, letting your eyes fall gently shut. There's still a handful of stops to go before you're really expected at your rooftop reservation, after all.
And then, with a gentle breath, you begin to tinker.
Ether is here. Even if steam does not bloom like it should, even if brass isn't properly resilient, and even if certain things you grew up with don't exist down here, sometimes Ether is enough. Heck, sometimes its abundance allows for designs that simply… never would've worked, in the before now. So it is with the invention you're putting the screws to – the one you're currently wearing. So it is, with the final reminder of where you came from:
[] The Armoires. As water becomes steam, mass becomes energy, and soul becomes solid. Taking advantage of the fact that the entire Underworld is made of spirit, these oversized gauntlets can store inanimate objects as Ether patterns, keeping themselves the same "actual" weight (for carrying purposes) but gaining effective mass (for the purposes of punching good). +1 to Strength, free Perk involving increased inventory space and punching power.
[] Your Vestment. Usually, the steam given off by Clockwork designs is simple waste product - the natural result of the gathering of heat energy with water as a medium. Down here, though, the process that makes steam isn't nearly as powerful a resource. Perhaps the idea, then, is to turn the process on its head? This complicated piece of clothing boils on command various poultices - antidotes, anesthesias, adrenalines, and so on - and breathing the steam that's produced can have a wonderful variety of effects. +1 to Constitution, free Resource involving healing and stamina.
[] A Chronocelerator. The hands on this pocketwatch run frightfully fast: multiple hours pass in less than a second. Yet, funny thing: it keeps perfectly accurate time. Using this device allows you to "compress" time, giving you effective superhuman movement at any time (heh) you wish. On the surface, using one of these for even a few seconds would shorten your effective lifespan for years, but, ah, seeing as how you're already dead... +1 to Dexterity, free Trait involving increased speed and time dilation.
[] Crystal Chamelons. This set of jewelry passively projects its wearer's self-image over their actual self, turning confidence and self-esteem into actual, tangible alteration of appearance. Now, to a being who is only a soul, their self-image is what they look like, anyway, making a device like this useless to most people down here. However, with just a little bit of focus, a firm will, and a touch of tinkering, you've managed to create a modified version which allows you to look like anything you want, at any time. +1 to Charisma, free Technique involving disguises and deceptions.
These are an awful lot of new terms I've been throwing at you, this update. Let's take a moment to clarify a bit:
Traits are qualities inherent to your character. Aptitudes, personal enhancements, personality quirks, and the like. They can be cited to give bonuses to difficult checks, with more relevant Traits providing bigger bonuses. For instance, the above Trait Cattiness is in my DNA could be cited in order to give a bonus to checks to overhear quiet noises, see sudden movements, or flirt with certain people, just as a few examples.
Techniques are special powers and abilities which your character has that most other characters do not. They provide special abilities with their own special rules to follow. Techniques can also be used to attempt checks you normally would not be able to. For instance, the above Technique An Arm and a Leg would not only do what it directly tells you to do, but could also be used attempt to craft devices that use the soul as a power source, for example.
Resources typically provide a bigger bonus than a Trait, and can sometimes be used to attempt checks you normally couldn't, like Techniques. However, unlike the other two, Resources are limited in time, space, or quantity. For example, a gun with limited ammo would be a resource, as would an ability to read minds that only works under a full moon. In exchange for their limitations, Resources usually provide larger bonuses than Traits, and are more broadly applicable than Techniques.
While Traits, Techniques, and Resources apply bonuses to checks, Perks apply permanent bonuses directly to your Stats, boosting all checks you make with that Stat for free. However, Perks are conditional things - if, say, you were a living computer, you might have a Perk that provides a +4 bonus to Intelligence... but only so long as you had more than 75% of your battery power.
If you find these rules confusing, do not fret. Simply play along, and things will become clear in time. The general thrust is: Traits are inherent qualities, Techniques are special powers, Resources are things with limited uses, and Perks are conditional upgrades.
Traits are qualities inherent to your character. Aptitudes, personal enhancements, personality quirks, and the like. They can be cited to give bonuses to difficult checks, with more relevant Traits providing bigger bonuses. For instance, the above Trait Cattiness is in my DNA could be cited in order to give a bonus to checks to overhear quiet noises, see sudden movements, or flirt with certain people, just as a few examples.
Techniques are special powers and abilities which your character has that most other characters do not. They provide special abilities with their own special rules to follow. Techniques can also be used to attempt checks you normally would not be able to. For instance, the above Technique An Arm and a Leg would not only do what it directly tells you to do, but could also be used attempt to craft devices that use the soul as a power source, for example.
Resources typically provide a bigger bonus than a Trait, and can sometimes be used to attempt checks you normally couldn't, like Techniques. However, unlike the other two, Resources are limited in time, space, or quantity. For example, a gun with limited ammo would be a resource, as would an ability to read minds that only works under a full moon. In exchange for their limitations, Resources usually provide larger bonuses than Traits, and are more broadly applicable than Techniques.
While Traits, Techniques, and Resources apply bonuses to checks, Perks apply permanent bonuses directly to your Stats, boosting all checks you make with that Stat for free. However, Perks are conditional things - if, say, you were a living computer, you might have a Perk that provides a +4 bonus to Intelligence... but only so long as you had more than 75% of your battery power.
If you find these rules confusing, do not fret. Simply play along, and things will become clear in time. The general thrust is: Traits are inherent qualities, Techniques are special powers, Resources are things with limited uses, and Perks are conditional upgrades.
It's a thing a work in progress, straddling the line between working perfectly and falling apart. But it does work. Performs all its functions exactly the way you envisioned. It works, at the very minimum, and doesn't appear to have any serious side effects, in testing.
But it isn't perfect. And therefore, no matter how fashionable it looks on your frame, it isn't you.
But then again, who better than you, right? Who better to cast out this thing's flaws, soar to the skies, and summit the mountain, attaining the truth that your invention was always destined for. Or – put it another way. Who else could?
Perfection takes time, though. That isn't a major obstacle; you're nothing but time, nowadays. Still, it's a thing to ponder, and fiddle with, and endeavor towards, here in the darkness. You're sure you'll put it down soon, but in the moment, you've just about… got...
The smell of peppermint intensifies, overpowering all others, and you find yourself cracking an eye beneath your tipped-up top hat, to take a look.
There's a girl up at the front, which is unusual. People don't often get on, at these handful of stops. You usually take someone getting on as the signal for you making your great escape, as a matter of fact.
"AH!" the girl says. Well, exclaims. Well, screams, really. "You're – mouse?!"
"I'm mouse," Joe is mouse.
"Oh." She is silent, for a second. "Hello, mouse?"
"Name's Joe."
"Gotcha. Ha, ha. Um."
She's a very light blue, the young woman, but slightly off blue, as well? You're not certain that's the right term, but it's what enters your mind. She's got a janitor's uniform on, in a darker blue, almost black. Can't quite make out more details, at this distance.
Joe gathers information for you. "You got a name?" Teensy pause, from teensy paws. "S'alright if you don't."
"I, uh-just met you?" Points for originality, points deducted for awkwardability. "Sorry. Uhhhhhh how much. To ride?"
"...nah," says Joe, "Don't even worry 'bout it. Go 'head and siddown. 'S'free for everybody."
It is? Huh. And here you thought you were special. Go figure.
"Alright," the girl breathes, and bows. "Th-thank you."
And she must turn, and begin walking down the aisle, but you miss it, because you're busy rearranging yourself. You're finding yourself sitting up, setting your tools aside, and trying to get a better look. Trying to see what this girl's deal is.
The off-blue becomes obvious as she gets in closer – she's dusted in sugar. Head to toe. It could technically be another white powder, but you don't think that's the case, not with candy corn in her grimace and gumdrops for freckles. There are all kinds of sweets, as a matter of fact, spiraling up and down her arms like strange tattoos, and her fingernails are made of rock candy. Her hair is black licorice that curls up at the ends. And her eyes are...
...wide, and looking around, ceaselessly, paranoid. She looks… she looks like she doesn't know where she's at.
Like she isn't used to being surrounded.
Ah, it clicks, at long last. It's her first day dead.
That's always rough. And it must have been why Joe backed off, the way he did. There are lots of awful people, down here in the awful after, but all of them have been through the same thing – it's rare that even the worst of them will intrude on a person's private panic attack, once they figure out what's going on.
You think for a moment.
The bus is as crowded as ever, and the nature of its seating arrangements mean that the only open seats are those next to somebody. You don't know whoever this lady is all that well, but you get the sense that she's not the type to go sitting next to strangers, even in - especially in - this kind of situation. At least, not without them inviting her to.
...the seat next to you is empty.
You could, couldn't you?
[] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal. (New friend, free skill. Skills are a bit like stats, but more specialized.)
[] The lack of sun. The stillness of the air. The endless horizon that's probably somewhere behind all the buildings. They call. You answer. Bus roof, here you come! (New locations to explore, continue the running gag with the bus driver.)
[] You were really on the verge of something, here, you think. And besides, you were comfortable. You sense you'll have to skip on the top deck to avoid further disrupting your concentration, but you think you can refine your work just that hair more… (Your chosen invention provides an extra +1 to your chosen stat. The bonus from your invention can raise a Stat above its Level One cap.)
[] You know what? You really didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe you don't need any, but you sure as where you're sitting want some. Time to catch some more Zs. (Next update, you'll be buying your Stats. This option will provide a few bonus points to spend.)
Usually I'd allow for write-ins in a situation as open-ended as this, but we haven't gotten to the point where you've solidified your Stats, yet. I can't let you go off the rails until you've at least got the wheels under you, if you get my lack-of-drift.
If you couldn't tell I was making it up as I went before, we're already not using the plan format for this update. Just vote for what you want! And yes, you can vote for more than one thing, if you like. Voting will close in 24 hours, and I will break any ties.
Also also, feel free to give me constructive criticism, either now or as the quest continues. I am very rusty, and was not a perfect writer even before my
Travler66
Let her name echo in song!
- Location
- Beyond
I didn't say it before, but it's good to have you back @AProcrastinator!
Edit: Also, I think you forgot to thread mark the update.
[X] The Armoires. As water becomes steam, mass becomes energy, and soul becomes solid. Taking advantage of the fact that the entire Underworld is made of spirit, these oversized gauntlets can store inanimate objects as Ether patterns, keeping themselves the same "actual" weight (for carrying purposes) but gaining effective mass (for the purposes of punching good). +1 to Strength, free Perk involving increased inventory space and punching power.
[X] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal. (New friend, free skill. Skills are a bit like stats, but more specialized.)
Edit: Also, I think you forgot to thread mark the update.
[X] The Armoires. As water becomes steam, mass becomes energy, and soul becomes solid. Taking advantage of the fact that the entire Underworld is made of spirit, these oversized gauntlets can store inanimate objects as Ether patterns, keeping themselves the same "actual" weight (for carrying purposes) but gaining effective mass (for the purposes of punching good). +1 to Strength, free Perk involving increased inventory space and punching power.
[X] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal. (New friend, free skill. Skills are a bit like stats, but more specialized.)
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[X] A Chronocelerator. The hands on this pocketwatch run frightfully fast: multiple hours pass in less than a second. Yet, funny thing: it keeps perfectly accurate time. Using this device allows you to "compress" time, giving you effective superhuman movement at any time (heh) you wish. On the surface, using one of these for even a few seconds would shorten your effective lifespan for years, but, ah, seeing as how you're already dead... +1 to Dexterity, free Trait involving increased speed and time dilation.
[X] You know what? You really didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe you don't need any, but you sure as where you're sitting want some. Time to catch some more Zs. (Next update, you'll be buying your Stats. This option will provide a few bonus points to spend.)
[X] You know what? You really didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe you don't need any, but you sure as where you're sitting want some. Time to catch some more Zs. (Next update, you'll be buying your Stats. This option will provide a few bonus points to spend.)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A Chronocelerator. The hands on this pocketwatch run frightfully fast: multiple hours pass in less than a second. Yet, funny thing: it keeps perfectly accurate time. Using this device allows you to "compress" time, giving you effective superhuman movement at any time (heh) you wish. On the surface, using one of these for even a few seconds would shorten your effective lifespan for years, but, ah, seeing as how you're already dead... +1 to Dexterity, free Trait involving increased speed and time dilation.
[X] You know what? You really didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe you don't need any, but you sure as where you're sitting want some. Time to catch some more Zs. (Next update, you'll be buying your Stats. This option will provide a few bonus points to spend.)
[X] You know what? You really didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe you don't need any, but you sure as where you're sitting want some. Time to catch some more Zs. (Next update, you'll be buying your Stats. This option will provide a few bonus points to spend.)
AProcrastinator
You can Certainly Try
- Location
- Getting Somewhere
- Pronouns
- She/Hers
No, no, I didn't forget. It was a social experiment. Wanted to see how many people would click if it wasn't explicitly a threadmark. But now you've ruined the experiment, so thanks. Thanks.
KitRougard
Blatant furry. Deal with it.
- Location
- wherever I feel like~
- Pronouns
- He/She
[X] Your Vestment.
You would never be caught dead without your mask... Well, wait, you were. In any case, there's a refreshing buzz to hiding at least some of your face, not to mention the refreshing vapors you rigged the thing up to produce.
[X] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal.
Sometimes what you need most is a change of perspective. You've been down here a while, you've stopped questioning things that are obvious to you now. Maybe she'll "See the holes in the fabric" so to speak.
You would never be caught dead without your mask... Well, wait, you were. In any case, there's a refreshing buzz to hiding at least some of your face, not to mention the refreshing vapors you rigged the thing up to produce.
[X] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal.
Sometimes what you need most is a change of perspective. You've been down here a while, you've stopped questioning things that are obvious to you now. Maybe she'll "See the holes in the fabric" so to speak.
The Froggy Ninja
The Blade Will Never Die
[X] Your Vestment.
Healing is useful even disregarding our Technique for burning health as a resource.
[X] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal.
Healing is useful even disregarding our Technique for burning health as a resource.
[X] Eh, one day without The Bumpy Ride won't kill ya. To use a figure of speech. You're sure you can teach this candywoman a thing or two. Besides, she seems like - heh - a sweet gal.
AProcrastinator
You can Certainly Try
- Location
- Getting Somewhere
- Pronouns
- She/Hers
Aaaaand that's vote closed!
Looks like talking to our newcomer has it! As to the inventions, we have ourselves a tie, so I'll be breaking that. I'll surprise you with which one I chose next update, unless someone manages to come in with a compelling reason to choose one or the other.
I have an appointment to get to, but sometime between it and getting to the next update I'll be posting the information you've already uncovered to your character sheet and to the rules document. Next time: choosing stats!
Looks like talking to our newcomer has it! As to the inventions, we have ourselves a tie, so I'll be breaking that. I'll surprise you with which one I chose next update, unless someone manages to come in with a compelling reason to choose one or the other.
I have an appointment to get to, but sometime between it and getting to the next update I'll be posting the information you've already uncovered to your character sheet and to the rules document. Next time: choosing stats!
The Froggy Ninja
The Blade Will Never Die
Healing makes casting from hitpoints much more viable, depending on the ratio of durability to health.
KitRougard
Blatant furry. Deal with it.
- Location
- wherever I feel like~
- Pronouns
- He/She
I also concur that the Vestments will be usable should we actually escape from the afterlife, whereas the Chronoaccelerator will... basically high-speed-re-dead us assuming we possess a mortal body when we Get Out, which is a reasonable escape-ending.
AProcrastinator
You can Certainly Try
- Location
- Getting Somewhere
- Pronouns
- She/Hers
So! Three things! First of all...
I wanted to note that these had been noted. They're good arguments. I'm not opposed to the idea of a Chronocelerator swooping in and arguing their way out, but it's leaning pretty heavily in Vestment's favor, so far.
So heavily, in fact, that I've already noted the Vestment on your guys' character sheet! Yes, the second thing: that's finally been updated, along with those rules you guys discovered in the last update.
Third and final thing: I got a job! And it's a full time one. This is good for me, but maybe not so good for my writing schedule. I know updates were already pretty slow, but I wanted to make it excruciatingly clear to you guys that was probably gonna continue to be the case. I will continue to work when I can, but... well, that's how it is.
I do hope you guys are willing to stick around, despite the pace of updates, so far. I have some ideas about what the future will hold, and although it may take a while, I promise the journey will be worth it. Hope to see you guys soon!
I wanted to note that these had been noted. They're good arguments. I'm not opposed to the idea of a Chronocelerator swooping in and arguing their way out, but it's leaning pretty heavily in Vestment's favor, so far.
So heavily, in fact, that I've already noted the Vestment on your guys' character sheet! Yes, the second thing: that's finally been updated, along with those rules you guys discovered in the last update.
Third and final thing: I got a job! And it's a full time one. This is good for me, but maybe not so good for my writing schedule. I know updates were already pretty slow, but I wanted to make it excruciatingly clear to you guys that was probably gonna continue to be the case. I will continue to work when I can, but... well, that's how it is.
I do hope you guys are willing to stick around, despite the pace of updates, so far. I have some ideas about what the future will hold, and although it may take a while, I promise the journey will be worth it. Hope to see you guys soon!