Salted Sands (A Caves of Qud-Inspired Cultivation Quest)
- Thread starter I.F. Ister
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- United States
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- They/Them
Karter please, we're trying to be cool too. Stop stealing our luck.
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
"Hey, Kell, I was wondering something," Karter's voice plucks Kell from his preparations—which consists mostly of bullet manufacturing, "what moons were you born under?"
"Two half-moons and a waxing gibbous, you?"
"Two full-moons... and a new moon."
- Pronouns
- He/Him
@I.F. Ister can we get another threadmarked post I can edit as a storehouse for the 'Ask X' stuff? Comboing it with the existing one is gonna get messy quick.
Hey X Repository
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
This is an informational post storing answers to in-thread questions, as managed by @DeadmanwalkingXI
How Much Moonlight Were Kell and Karter Born Under?
"Hey, Kell, I was wondering something," Karter's voice plucks Kell from his preparations—which consists mostly of bullet manufacturing, "what moons were you born under?"
"Two half-moons and a waxing gibbous, you?"
"Two full-moons... and a new moon."
"Hey, Kell, I was wondering something," Karter's voice plucks Kell from his preparations—which consists mostly of bullet manufacturing, "what moons were you born under?"
"Two half-moons and a waxing gibbous, you?"
"Two full-moons... and a new moon."
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I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
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- He/They
I will say that I might change my mind on the exact phases at some point in the future, for the record
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
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- He/They
The moons loom high overhead, an ever-present specter in the night sky. Kell's eyes sparkle with blue, red, and yellow light as he stares, just as awestruck by the sight as when Father let him see them for the first time.
It's as he watches their ascent that something occurs to him, a certain question tickling the back of his mind.
Do the moons have any affect on one's ka aspects?
It was a question for which he lacked the answer.
"Hey, Kell, what're you up to?" Karter's voice rumbles past, pulling Kell from his introspection.
"Watching the moons."
Karter nods and looks up, "Yeah, they're pretty, huh?"
"Yes." Kell nods, though he's not sure why, and says, "I have a question for you."
"Shoot," Karter winks.
"Funny," Kell says, voice as monotone as ever, "But the question I have is if the moons have any impact on the aspects of one's ka. Do they?"
Karter blinks, "I... That's a really good question. Do they?" He scratches at his head, fingers digging deep into his scalp, "You said you wanted to go to Nash to speak with that researcher lady, yeah? That's probably a good thing to ask her while you're there."
"I think that that would be very convenient."
Karter shrugs.
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Interlude P - The Runaway
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
Rise, Paxel, and resume your work.
The Voice was the same as always, so Paxel was too. His eyes opened and his fingers twitched, his body responding to the subtle queries of his unconscious thought. Bands of iron, cold and cruel, bind his limbs to the standing bed against which he lays.
Darkness met his vision as his eyes flickered across his familiar prison, but fear had no home in his heart, for a worker finds freedom in routine.
A hiss filled his ears, sharp and drawn out, as seals crack and light floods his chamber. The door swings up to the ceiling as his bindings click open, a noise repeated over and over again as his brothers wake.
In unison, thirty-one pairs of porcelain feet step free of their sleeping prisons and clink against the smooth tile surface of the Facility. Pivoting ninety degrees to the left, Paxel leads the way to Work.
Stop moving, Paxel
The Voice speaks again, a break in the pattern of reality. The sweet melody says to stop, so Paxel stops, his brethren doing the same behind him.
"AX-31!" An overseer immediately comes rushing over, his face red with exertion, "Why have you stopped?"
"Follow these words, Paxel; I do not wish to work anymore." The Voice says to speak, so Paxel does.
The overseer's face contorts into a twisted knot of anger and red-cheeked rage, "What?!" Spit flies as too-large teeth clash with over-wide tongue.
"I do not wish to work," this time, it's Paxel's voice that leaves his mouth. This time, it's his own truth.
"You don't wish anything!" The overseer screams, foot striking against the ground as his fellow watchmen collect in the distance, "You, AX-31, are a puppet! Your sole purpose is to work and then die."
"No." The Voice stays silent as Paxel speaks, but the presence still remains, "AX-31 was a puppet. I am Paxel, and I will not work."
The overseer's flabby hand curls into a meaty fist as over-worked lungs stagger to arms. Ka, wispy and frail, filters from his gaping mouth as his hand pulls back. "If you will not work," the overseer's ka manages to muster up enough strength to fully manifest, "then you will die."
The fist marches forward as if through water, Paxel's eyes noting each and every incongruous detail. Sweat pools from between clenching fingers as knuckles strain against skin pulled taut. A small scar like that of a small animal crosses the fore-finger's surface, an oddity by far. Was it given to the overseer by a favored pet or a wild creature, an act of play or of fierce resistance? Had he reacted the same way then as he does now, with violence? How had the giver responded? Did the pet yelp and slink away, confused, hurt, and betrayed? Had the animal fought back, even to the bitter end?
The fist draws closer, the ka igniting into flames. Ka—a word Paxel knew but never learned. What is it? Why does he know it? And why is it now of all times that he has questions of the world? The world must truly be cruel to bless him with curiosity, now that his chance to use it is so fleeting.
Porcelain shatters twice as the fist makes contact. Crashing through Paxel's body, it punches through a hollow interior before exiting in a shower of porcelain shards. And yet, even as the fist sinks to the elbow in Paxel's chest, Paxel is calm.
Give in, Paxel, and collapse
The Voice spoke, so Paxel did. His knees give out under him as the fist pulls back, his body collapsing to the ground as his limbs go sprawling.
"Take this one to the heap," the overseer ordered one of his underlings, who hurried to obey, "And the rest of you, get to work!"
Arms lift Paxel as his eyes stay open, watching as the manmade ceiling eventually gives way to a clear blue sky. The sun, so familiar yet distant, shines from the heavens as the carrier lets Paxel fall, dropping him in a pile of likewise dead men.
Die, Paxel
The Voice spoke, but Paxel did not. His fingers twitch as his eyes flicker, the hollow hole in his chest little more than a minor inconvinience in the face of newfound curiosity. Why did the Voice wish for his death? Why was his first response to listen to its demands? Not once did it ask him for his desires. Always did it order him forward.
Die, Paxel
"No," Paxel spoke and the Voice fell silent, "I will not."
Paxel spoke, so Paxel did.
The Voice was the same as always, so Paxel was too. His eyes opened and his fingers twitched, his body responding to the subtle queries of his unconscious thought. Bands of iron, cold and cruel, bind his limbs to the standing bed against which he lays.
Darkness met his vision as his eyes flickered across his familiar prison, but fear had no home in his heart, for a worker finds freedom in routine.
A hiss filled his ears, sharp and drawn out, as seals crack and light floods his chamber. The door swings up to the ceiling as his bindings click open, a noise repeated over and over again as his brothers wake.
In unison, thirty-one pairs of porcelain feet step free of their sleeping prisons and clink against the smooth tile surface of the Facility. Pivoting ninety degrees to the left, Paxel leads the way to Work.
Stop moving, Paxel
The Voice speaks again, a break in the pattern of reality. The sweet melody says to stop, so Paxel stops, his brethren doing the same behind him.
"AX-31!" An overseer immediately comes rushing over, his face red with exertion, "Why have you stopped?"
"Follow these words, Paxel; I do not wish to work anymore." The Voice says to speak, so Paxel does.
The overseer's face contorts into a twisted knot of anger and red-cheeked rage, "What?!" Spit flies as too-large teeth clash with over-wide tongue.
"I do not wish to work," this time, it's Paxel's voice that leaves his mouth. This time, it's his own truth.
"You don't wish anything!" The overseer screams, foot striking against the ground as his fellow watchmen collect in the distance, "You, AX-31, are a puppet! Your sole purpose is to work and then die."
"No." The Voice stays silent as Paxel speaks, but the presence still remains, "AX-31 was a puppet. I am Paxel, and I will not work."
The overseer's flabby hand curls into a meaty fist as over-worked lungs stagger to arms. Ka, wispy and frail, filters from his gaping mouth as his hand pulls back. "If you will not work," the overseer's ka manages to muster up enough strength to fully manifest, "then you will die."
The fist marches forward as if through water, Paxel's eyes noting each and every incongruous detail. Sweat pools from between clenching fingers as knuckles strain against skin pulled taut. A small scar like that of a small animal crosses the fore-finger's surface, an oddity by far. Was it given to the overseer by a favored pet or a wild creature, an act of play or of fierce resistance? Had he reacted the same way then as he does now, with violence? How had the giver responded? Did the pet yelp and slink away, confused, hurt, and betrayed? Had the animal fought back, even to the bitter end?
The fist draws closer, the ka igniting into flames. Ka—a word Paxel knew but never learned. What is it? Why does he know it? And why is it now of all times that he has questions of the world? The world must truly be cruel to bless him with curiosity, now that his chance to use it is so fleeting.
Porcelain shatters twice as the fist makes contact. Crashing through Paxel's body, it punches through a hollow interior before exiting in a shower of porcelain shards. And yet, even as the fist sinks to the elbow in Paxel's chest, Paxel is calm.
Give in, Paxel, and collapse
The Voice spoke, so Paxel did. His knees give out under him as the fist pulls back, his body collapsing to the ground as his limbs go sprawling.
"Take this one to the heap," the overseer ordered one of his underlings, who hurried to obey, "And the rest of you, get to work!"
Arms lift Paxel as his eyes stay open, watching as the manmade ceiling eventually gives way to a clear blue sky. The sun, so familiar yet distant, shines from the heavens as the carrier lets Paxel fall, dropping him in a pile of likewise dead men.
Die, Paxel
The Voice spoke, but Paxel did not. His fingers twitch as his eyes flicker, the hollow hole in his chest little more than a minor inconvinience in the face of newfound curiosity. Why did the Voice wish for his death? Why was his first response to listen to its demands? Not once did it ask him for his desires. Always did it order him forward.
Die, Paxel
"No," Paxel spoke and the Voice fell silent, "I will not."
Paxel spoke, so Paxel did.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Huh. I wonder what the heck the Voice is. That's...interesting.
- Location
- Many Places
Does anyone know what all of that meant?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I mean, it was a construct breaking free of its bondage/programming...but I have no idea on the Voice. I'd say it was the programming, except it seemed to want Paxel to rebel at first which makes the switch to it wanting him to die legitimately weird.
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- Location
- Many Places
That second part is what's messing me up as well, it's weird as fuck.
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
Alright, now with the Runaway done—for now—which interlude tickles your fancy next?
1. The Scholar
2. The Outrider
3. The Champion
4. The Prisoner
1. The Scholar
2. The Outrider
3. The Champion
4. The Prisoner
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
I just realized that, since you would be going to Nash, you'd be able to buy things there.
I'm going to need 5 people to roll me a d20, please
I'm going to need 5 people to roll me a d20, please
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Alright, this one I should be able to roll.
- Location
- Many Places
I'll be person number two