When even the Beholders stop and go "what the hell is that?" It's time to turn around.
Been to the Far Reams once in all my gaming time. Once too many times.
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Scaling Up
- Thread starter Kryslin
- Start date
When even the Beholders stop and go "what the hell is that?" It's time to turn around.
Been to the Far Reams once in all my gaming time. Once too many times.
Napdragon
Fire from Heat
Don't the Beholders (and their variant, the Beholsters) come from the Far Realm? Did they leave because the Prime Materium was much safer?
yup, beholders are immigrants, because the shit that lives out there makes them look cuddly.
Could you imagine moving to Faerun because its the safer option? That setting is a massive, lethal, dumpster fire, everything is wrong with it. From the nations, the monsters, the elderich horrors, everything. It might even be more messed up that WoW is, and that takes doing!
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
The reference frame does matter because as mentioned, that reference frame IS the paradox. The paradox has the following criteria:
!. There is only one copy of the book
2. The reason the person who dug it up could even find the book is because they will at some point in their future bury the book
3. Time is linear, thus it's possible for a time traveler to affect their own past
If any of those criteria are not true, there is no paradox. But if all 3 are true, then the book exists simply because it must exist for the sequence of events to occur without anyone having ever written it. And that is the paradox. It's a unique object with no actual origin beyond the fact that it was dug out of the ground.
You keep bringing up Enstine. And yet, the man to my knowledge never once postulated on such a subject. Yes, he theorized that energy can't be created or destroyed. And yet, that is the entire problem with the paradox. The book (or other paradoxical object/person) DID spontaneously come into existence.
The book must have gotten written and published, who published it and when? According to the paradoxical scenario, the answer is "nobody wrote it and it was never published". Somebody buried the book in the ground. If they hadn't, it wouldn't have been there for you to dig up and read. According to the paradox, that someone was your future self. This is an impossible sequence of events because the cause requires the effect to occur first.
Let's say your future self burns that book instead of burying it. You now managed to dig up a book that was never buried. Yes, your personal timeline says the book must have been there, other wise you couldn't have dug it up. From a causality standpoint though, this is an impossibility because there was nothing to dig up. So again, where did the book come from.
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Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
So, moving away from the bizarre attempts to apply Newtonian Physics to Temporal Mechanics, how long do you guys think it will take for Ragnar to decide to take over for the Golden Idiot?
Napdragon
Fire from Heat
He's in retirement, remember.
Krsnik
faerie princess
- Pronouns
- She/Fae
Obviously what happens (from the perspective of the outside observer) is this:
1. A book and an anti-book are spontaneously created via pair production when the time machine arrives in the past.
2. The book is buried while the antibook travels forwards in time along the path of the time machine.
3. The book and anti-book annihilate each other at the moment the time machine leaves the future, the released energy is used to power the time machine.
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GuesssWho
To Assemble A Name From Scars
- Location
- People's Republic of Treacle Mine Road
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The book would have to defy entropy, otherwise the timeline doesn't work.
ETA: And to get back on topic, this kind of mess is simple compared to the shit in the Far Realm. If I were ever to run a game in the Far Realm I'd make the map a hypercube just for a start.
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Ah, but can the Far Realm match the absolutely mindbending shit of what the Getter Rays from Getter Robo are capable of doing?
Gang, no. Mercenary Company, yes. And why would they bother hiring humans for PR? Tucker strikes me as a kobold who prefers to keep things "in-house".
Kryslin
[Has Delusions of Authorship]
- Location
- Mythic Iowa
The problem with the book is that soon The Librarian, from The Library, will eventually come for it, and hand someone a massive overdue book fine.
Re: Tucker's Kobolds as a Parahuman gang.
That is an interesting question. As for an answer... Tucker considers his group more like soldiers than a gang. The problem with soldiers is that they need certain things that could be rolled into the term 'support'. This includes quarters, food, water, ammunition, and someplace for R & R. Without those being supplied to him, he would set his kobolds to seeking out and grabbing what they need.
He may need a reliable agent for hiring purposes, though.
It is in certain parties best interests that the Kobolds do not engage in raiding for supplies. There may be a small community of Kobolds under Brockton Bay in the near future, who will have some contact with the citizenry. Which could be interesting. There's a reason the summer of 2011 is called, in story "The Summer of Madness".
Re: Tucker's Kobolds as a Parahuman gang.
That is an interesting question. As for an answer... Tucker considers his group more like soldiers than a gang. The problem with soldiers is that they need certain things that could be rolled into the term 'support'. This includes quarters, food, water, ammunition, and someplace for R & R. Without those being supplied to him, he would set his kobolds to seeking out and grabbing what they need.
He may need a reliable agent for hiring purposes, though.
It is in certain parties best interests that the Kobolds do not engage in raiding for supplies. There may be a small community of Kobolds under Brockton Bay in the near future, who will have some contact with the citizenry. Which could be interesting. There's a reason the summer of 2011 is called, in story "The Summer of Madness".
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So, there's this old endbringer shelter under the commerical district, I hear nobody's using it cause it didn't pass code. But since you're a tunneling species that should be easy to fix, bet you could pick up your second hand underground fortress for cheap!
- Location
- Missouri
Actual physics strongly suggests the failure point there is #3. Reality as we know it is very likely an un-collapsed analog waveform containing all possible reality states with a non-zero probability, which makes things like dimension hopping and time travel just straight up impossible since there are no discrete "dimensional boundaries" to traverse and previous states of the waveform are not preserved to return to.
Obviously not true in the fictional universes of Wormverse or D&D, since both alternate dimensions and time-travel exist in the lore, but that simply means you can tuck time-looped artifacts away in the same pile as all the other blatantly impossible stuff in fiction.
Can we pay him in bananas?
- Location
- Somewhere, Maybe
D&D has actually already done that. Dragon Magazine Compendium has a mini-dungeon with 8 rooms, each of which is one "face" of a hypercube. The trick is getting from the "outside" cube to the "inside" cube to escape the pocket-plane.
Empire 21 - Marshall Plan
Kryslin
[Has Delusions of Authorship]
- Location
- Mythic Iowa
A word to the wise, I wouldn'y be drinking or eating anything while reading this. The author cannot be held responsible for any damage to your monitor or keyboard.
Friday 22 April 2011 0800 Lima(EDT)
The small motor launch had pulled up alongside the derelict tanker that blocked the deep water channel for the port of Brockton Bay. It wasn't unusual, as the local Coast Guard often made inspections of the wreck, to make sure it wasn't going to unexpectedly come apart. This time it wasn't them.
"The last USCG report says barring Endbringers using it for some purpose, the wreck will take care of itself in eighty years." The speaker was a stocky woman, dressed in work clothes typical for maritime salvage work. A ponytail of black hair had been pulled out from underneath her watch cap, and her brown eyes looked over the wreck, not missing any details. "More like eighty-three, I'd say."
"Yeah, Dale," another added. She was younger, definitely dressed for cutting up and welding metal, with her welder's helmet lifted to reveal her freckled face and green eyes. "Some decent steel here, a few trace elements are still present. Not low background steel, but it's much higher quality stuff than what we salvaged in the Solomons."
The last member of the trio nodded. "Having to be careful to not disturb the war graves was tedious work, but necessary. At least we won't have to deal with re-interring bodies with this one. I hope." Her head was bare, showing her close cut blonde hair. She had a pair of cutting goggles hanging about her neck, and a pair of welder's gloves tucked into her belt.
Dale looked about the hull of the derelict ship a bit. "Well, initial scans are pretty good. We've nine holes in the bottom, two of which are quite large."
"The smaller of those broke the keel," the second one added. "Gonna make refloating it very, very difficult." She looked thoughtful for a second. "Could we eat our way under it, taking the rock with it?"
"It depends, Suzy, on the schedule the boss lady gives us to get it done," said the third one. "I'm surprised she didn't blast it out of the way."
"The only reason I didn't, Jenny," came the voice of Welshie from where she approached on her own motor launch, "is because the local authorities have asked me to try and minimize collateral damage."
Jenny smirked. "Given what I've seen from Arunta's drone data, it would actually demolish a lot of abandoned and decaying structures."
Dale looked shocked. "But all this nice raw material would go to waste!"
"Spoken like a true Fog repair vessel, sister," Suzy smirked. "And I agree, blasting the ship out of the channel is a waste."
Welshie nodded. "I'm still getting the necessary permits lined up for the actual work." The mental model sighed. "I've had to sign my name on more pieces of paper than I thought existed." She shook her head to clear it. "Right now, we're clear to inspect the wreck, and begin removal of hazmats."
Dale nodded. "Well, you heard the boss, ladies. Let's get to work!" With that, all four of them leapt up to the deck of the tanker.
Danny had shown up at the USCG office over in Kittery as the doors to the office were unlocked. He had the normal annual paperwork for the few boats the DWA still operated, and he wanted to get the last of the permit paperwork filed for the salvage that was about to start in the deep shipping channel. They were still awaiting the paperwork for the award of salvage, Lloyd's of London had already given a verbal award to the DWA for purposes of removing the wreck from the shipping channel; the documents would make it official.
"Hey, Danny." The voice that greeted him was the civilian secretary who ran the office.
"Morning, Marge," Danny replied. "How're Homer and the kids?"
"He's doing much better now that his boss was indicted for cutting corners on safety and embezzling funds from Seabrook Station," Marge replied. "DoE and NRC were very upset with him. Bart should be out of prison soon, Lisa is doing well as a Jazz musician. Maggie we haven't heard from in a while, so I hope she's OK. I heard Taylor had a rough time after Anne passed."
"You might say that," Danny answered. "It's also understating things quite a bit. Fortunately, with the help of some friends, we picked up the pieces and started moving forward again."
"Good for you." She shuffled some papers around on her desk. "I know you didn't come here to say 'Hi!' to me, Danny. What've you got?"
"I'm here to get some paperwork turned in regarding some marine salvage going on in the channel." Danny set the folder on the counter.
"Oh," Marge exclaimed. "Commander Mortensen wanted to talk to you about that!" She picked up the phone and dialed the man's extension. "Commander, Mr. Hebert is here." There were a few seconds as the man replied. "I'll send him in, then." She set the phone down and looked at Danny. "The Commander will see you now, Danny. He seemed rather anxious about wanting to talk to you."
"I suspect he is."
The interior of the office Danny was admitted to was one he'd seen before. Each man decorated it to his tastes, within the standards that were allowed by US Coast Guard rules. Usually pictures of things they'd done, of ships they'd served on, commendations received, and so on. You could tell a lot about the man behind the desk by the affectations he kept around.
Commander Mortensen had held his current post for a couple of years now. He'd a reputation as a fair officer, willing to do what it would take to get the job done. Whether it was rescuing people from ships that had foundered after Newfoundland started sinking, to marine safety inspections, to actually interdicting smuggling in the seas off New England.
The man wore his hair in military fashion, close cropped and neat. His blue eyes twinkled with some amusement, not anxiety, and his posture in his chair was rather relaxed.
Danny got a look at the commander's guests, one eyebrow raising. He saw stars on one uniform, but wasn't familiar enough with British uniforms to hazard a guess about the other, although the presence of a gold field on the shoulder boards probably meant another flag officer.
"Mr. Hebert," Commander Mortensen said, standing to greet him and give him a good, firm handshake. "Nice of you to join us on such short notice. Saves us a trip coming to you." As they sat down, he introduced his other guests. "Admiral Kroft is an aide for the Secretary of the Navy, and Commodore Smythe fills the same role for the First Sea Lord of the Royal Navy."
Danny shook each man's hand in turn. "It's not a bother, I had paperwork to deliver anyway. So, what do such distinguished officers want with me?" he asked politely.
It was Commodore Smythe that answered. "It has to do with us," he said, indicating his partner, "allowing Royal Navy assets to assist our allies in clearing a harbor." The man chuckled a bit before continuing. "Her Majesty has graciously allowed those ships to fly the Royal Ensign, and have commissioned them back into service. Fortunately, as those ships are self-supporting, it was an easy sell to Parliament.
"As such, we'd like to reach an agreement with you, since you are listed as the primary broker, for a small portion of the salvaged materials, in exchange for the use of what is, symbolically, Her Majesty's ships."
Admiral Kroft nodded. "The US Navy would also like to reach a similar agreement, and hopefully between the two of us, keep any more missiles being launched inland without warning."
Danny, inwardly, was amused. Long years of experience negotiating contracts kept his face neutral. He opened his small briefcase, and pulled out a pair of business cards, handing one to each man, before retrieving a pad and pencil. "This is the primary contact information for Ms. Wales while she's in Brockton Bay. As for the portion of salvage, how much are we talking about, and on what timetable?"
And thus, the age old game of negotiating began.
Dennis was kicking back in his room at the hospital. He was feeling better, though he still got tired easily. At least he was allowed to go out of his room on his own now. Messages had been exchanged with the various Wards the day before, and he'd had a bunch of get well cards delivered. There was also a collection of plush dragons around the room. There was a pair of gold ones, a pair of silver, and a very smug looking copper one. He knew immediately where the last one had come from, so he'd set it importantly guarding the bed.
There was a knock at the door. "Enter," he replied.
The door opened to reveal Director Piggot. "Good morning, Mr. Cooper." She was dressed in something other than a business suit or BDU coveralls, and she actually had a smile on her normally scowling face. "Dennis, your jaw is hanging open."
It took Dennis a few tires to get his mouth closed. "Err, good morning, Director?" he asked sheepishly. "Sorry, I don't think I've ever seen you actually smile unless someone else was going to have a bad day."
"Yes, I know," she replied, somewhat annoyed. "Still, despite what happened with you on Wednesday, it's been an exceptionally good couple of days, so I can afford to practice my smile." She sat down in one of the chairs in the room. "I actually wanted to come down and see how you were doing."
"Had a few visitors," he explained, "and lots of doctors ordering tests. Between you and me, I think they've got a vampire in the lab, they've drawn so much blood."
"I know the feeling," Emily chuckled. "However, in my case, Dr. Ramirez was not a vampire." She took a sip from the cup of coffee she'd brought in with her. "It looks like you're feeling better and even your alleged sense of humor is -- functioning."
Dennis leaned back into the pillows on the bed. "Yeah, feeling better is good. Doctors said I should be out Sunday afternoon barring complications. They'd better not be eating any of the snacks people have been bringing me." At Director Piggot's confused look, he explained. "The hospital staff has been confiscating the cookies and snacks people have been bringing me because everything has to be approved by the nutritionist assigned to me."
"Ah." Another sip of coffee was taken. "Talk to Panacea about that. I seem to remember something about gifted chocolate being stored for her.
"And Dennis?"
"Yeah?"
"You did good. But don't ever do that again, okay?"
Dennis gave her a salute. "Yes, ma'am. Hurts way too much for me to want to repeat the experience."
Unexpectedly, Emily Piggot started laughing. "That it does."
"Today's mission, should I choose to do it, is to find Tucker and his lot and find out for Tia what they're going to do next," Hailey muttered to herself as she worked her way along one of the old smuggler's tunnels that were under the older sections of Brockton Bay.
"And of course, I accepted Tia's really good box of French Silk cupcakes, fresh from the ovens at Boulangerie Rémy in La Rochelle, France." She sighed as she walked through the muddy tunnels. "They were really good."
There wasn't any problem finding the kobolds. She had their scent, and her excellent (even for dragons) hearing could catch snatches of whispered conversation. "<I can hear you, you know,>" she said in draconic pidgin.
Two kobolds stepped forth from a small side chamber, and she could hear several others being very quiet, probably with weapons readied and aimed at her. "<Who are you, and what do you want?>" one of the pair demanded, his P90 pointing at Hailey's chest.
"<Tell Tucker that Hlal Quicksilver is here. Tiamat has a couple of questions for him.>"
"<Anyone can make such a claim, human. You will need to… prove...>"
As the kobold had been speaking, Hlal had shifted them into the Ethereal plane. The seven kobolds all looked at where Hailey had been standing, to see the great copper wyrm Hlal. "<I am Hlal Aasternian, daughter of Io, Messenger to him, Tiamat and Bahamut. Is this proof enough for you, little ones?>" Her voice carried no heat or anger, just slight amusement. After that, they were all back in the tunnel.
"<Forgive us, great one,>" one of the pair grovelled. "<We will take you to Tucker.>"
Friday 22 April 2011 0800 Lima(EDT)
The small motor launch had pulled up alongside the derelict tanker that blocked the deep water channel for the port of Brockton Bay. It wasn't unusual, as the local Coast Guard often made inspections of the wreck, to make sure it wasn't going to unexpectedly come apart. This time it wasn't them.
"The last USCG report says barring Endbringers using it for some purpose, the wreck will take care of itself in eighty years." The speaker was a stocky woman, dressed in work clothes typical for maritime salvage work. A ponytail of black hair had been pulled out from underneath her watch cap, and her brown eyes looked over the wreck, not missing any details. "More like eighty-three, I'd say."
"Yeah, Dale," another added. She was younger, definitely dressed for cutting up and welding metal, with her welder's helmet lifted to reveal her freckled face and green eyes. "Some decent steel here, a few trace elements are still present. Not low background steel, but it's much higher quality stuff than what we salvaged in the Solomons."
The last member of the trio nodded. "Having to be careful to not disturb the war graves was tedious work, but necessary. At least we won't have to deal with re-interring bodies with this one. I hope." Her head was bare, showing her close cut blonde hair. She had a pair of cutting goggles hanging about her neck, and a pair of welder's gloves tucked into her belt.
Dale looked about the hull of the derelict ship a bit. "Well, initial scans are pretty good. We've nine holes in the bottom, two of which are quite large."
"The smaller of those broke the keel," the second one added. "Gonna make refloating it very, very difficult." She looked thoughtful for a second. "Could we eat our way under it, taking the rock with it?"
"It depends, Suzy, on the schedule the boss lady gives us to get it done," said the third one. "I'm surprised she didn't blast it out of the way."
"The only reason I didn't, Jenny," came the voice of Welshie from where she approached on her own motor launch, "is because the local authorities have asked me to try and minimize collateral damage."
Jenny smirked. "Given what I've seen from Arunta's drone data, it would actually demolish a lot of abandoned and decaying structures."
Dale looked shocked. "But all this nice raw material would go to waste!"
"Spoken like a true Fog repair vessel, sister," Suzy smirked. "And I agree, blasting the ship out of the channel is a waste."
Welshie nodded. "I'm still getting the necessary permits lined up for the actual work." The mental model sighed. "I've had to sign my name on more pieces of paper than I thought existed." She shook her head to clear it. "Right now, we're clear to inspect the wreck, and begin removal of hazmats."
Dale nodded. "Well, you heard the boss, ladies. Let's get to work!" With that, all four of them leapt up to the deck of the tanker.
//\\//\\//\\
Danny had shown up at the USCG office over in Kittery as the doors to the office were unlocked. He had the normal annual paperwork for the few boats the DWA still operated, and he wanted to get the last of the permit paperwork filed for the salvage that was about to start in the deep shipping channel. They were still awaiting the paperwork for the award of salvage, Lloyd's of London had already given a verbal award to the DWA for purposes of removing the wreck from the shipping channel; the documents would make it official.
"Hey, Danny." The voice that greeted him was the civilian secretary who ran the office.
"Morning, Marge," Danny replied. "How're Homer and the kids?"
"He's doing much better now that his boss was indicted for cutting corners on safety and embezzling funds from Seabrook Station," Marge replied. "DoE and NRC were very upset with him. Bart should be out of prison soon, Lisa is doing well as a Jazz musician. Maggie we haven't heard from in a while, so I hope she's OK. I heard Taylor had a rough time after Anne passed."
"You might say that," Danny answered. "It's also understating things quite a bit. Fortunately, with the help of some friends, we picked up the pieces and started moving forward again."
"Good for you." She shuffled some papers around on her desk. "I know you didn't come here to say 'Hi!' to me, Danny. What've you got?"
"I'm here to get some paperwork turned in regarding some marine salvage going on in the channel." Danny set the folder on the counter.
"Oh," Marge exclaimed. "Commander Mortensen wanted to talk to you about that!" She picked up the phone and dialed the man's extension. "Commander, Mr. Hebert is here." There were a few seconds as the man replied. "I'll send him in, then." She set the phone down and looked at Danny. "The Commander will see you now, Danny. He seemed rather anxious about wanting to talk to you."
"I suspect he is."
- - - - - - - - - -
The interior of the office Danny was admitted to was one he'd seen before. Each man decorated it to his tastes, within the standards that were allowed by US Coast Guard rules. Usually pictures of things they'd done, of ships they'd served on, commendations received, and so on. You could tell a lot about the man behind the desk by the affectations he kept around.
Commander Mortensen had held his current post for a couple of years now. He'd a reputation as a fair officer, willing to do what it would take to get the job done. Whether it was rescuing people from ships that had foundered after Newfoundland started sinking, to marine safety inspections, to actually interdicting smuggling in the seas off New England.
The man wore his hair in military fashion, close cropped and neat. His blue eyes twinkled with some amusement, not anxiety, and his posture in his chair was rather relaxed.
Danny got a look at the commander's guests, one eyebrow raising. He saw stars on one uniform, but wasn't familiar enough with British uniforms to hazard a guess about the other, although the presence of a gold field on the shoulder boards probably meant another flag officer.
"Mr. Hebert," Commander Mortensen said, standing to greet him and give him a good, firm handshake. "Nice of you to join us on such short notice. Saves us a trip coming to you." As they sat down, he introduced his other guests. "Admiral Kroft is an aide for the Secretary of the Navy, and Commodore Smythe fills the same role for the First Sea Lord of the Royal Navy."
Danny shook each man's hand in turn. "It's not a bother, I had paperwork to deliver anyway. So, what do such distinguished officers want with me?" he asked politely.
It was Commodore Smythe that answered. "It has to do with us," he said, indicating his partner, "allowing Royal Navy assets to assist our allies in clearing a harbor." The man chuckled a bit before continuing. "Her Majesty has graciously allowed those ships to fly the Royal Ensign, and have commissioned them back into service. Fortunately, as those ships are self-supporting, it was an easy sell to Parliament.
"As such, we'd like to reach an agreement with you, since you are listed as the primary broker, for a small portion of the salvaged materials, in exchange for the use of what is, symbolically, Her Majesty's ships."
Admiral Kroft nodded. "The US Navy would also like to reach a similar agreement, and hopefully between the two of us, keep any more missiles being launched inland without warning."
Danny, inwardly, was amused. Long years of experience negotiating contracts kept his face neutral. He opened his small briefcase, and pulled out a pair of business cards, handing one to each man, before retrieving a pad and pencil. "This is the primary contact information for Ms. Wales while she's in Brockton Bay. As for the portion of salvage, how much are we talking about, and on what timetable?"
And thus, the age old game of negotiating began.
//\\//\\//\\
Dennis was kicking back in his room at the hospital. He was feeling better, though he still got tired easily. At least he was allowed to go out of his room on his own now. Messages had been exchanged with the various Wards the day before, and he'd had a bunch of get well cards delivered. There was also a collection of plush dragons around the room. There was a pair of gold ones, a pair of silver, and a very smug looking copper one. He knew immediately where the last one had come from, so he'd set it importantly guarding the bed.
There was a knock at the door. "Enter," he replied.
The door opened to reveal Director Piggot. "Good morning, Mr. Cooper." She was dressed in something other than a business suit or BDU coveralls, and she actually had a smile on her normally scowling face. "Dennis, your jaw is hanging open."
It took Dennis a few tires to get his mouth closed. "Err, good morning, Director?" he asked sheepishly. "Sorry, I don't think I've ever seen you actually smile unless someone else was going to have a bad day."
"Yes, I know," she replied, somewhat annoyed. "Still, despite what happened with you on Wednesday, it's been an exceptionally good couple of days, so I can afford to practice my smile." She sat down in one of the chairs in the room. "I actually wanted to come down and see how you were doing."
"Had a few visitors," he explained, "and lots of doctors ordering tests. Between you and me, I think they've got a vampire in the lab, they've drawn so much blood."
"I know the feeling," Emily chuckled. "However, in my case, Dr. Ramirez was not a vampire." She took a sip from the cup of coffee she'd brought in with her. "It looks like you're feeling better and even your alleged sense of humor is -- functioning."
Dennis leaned back into the pillows on the bed. "Yeah, feeling better is good. Doctors said I should be out Sunday afternoon barring complications. They'd better not be eating any of the snacks people have been bringing me." At Director Piggot's confused look, he explained. "The hospital staff has been confiscating the cookies and snacks people have been bringing me because everything has to be approved by the nutritionist assigned to me."
"Ah." Another sip of coffee was taken. "Talk to Panacea about that. I seem to remember something about gifted chocolate being stored for her.
"And Dennis?"
"Yeah?"
"You did good. But don't ever do that again, okay?"
Dennis gave her a salute. "Yes, ma'am. Hurts way too much for me to want to repeat the experience."
Unexpectedly, Emily Piggot started laughing. "That it does."
//\\//\\//\\
"Today's mission, should I choose to do it, is to find Tucker and his lot and find out for Tia what they're going to do next," Hailey muttered to herself as she worked her way along one of the old smuggler's tunnels that were under the older sections of Brockton Bay.
"And of course, I accepted Tia's really good box of French Silk cupcakes, fresh from the ovens at Boulangerie Rémy in La Rochelle, France." She sighed as she walked through the muddy tunnels. "They were really good."
There wasn't any problem finding the kobolds. She had their scent, and her excellent (even for dragons) hearing could catch snatches of whispered conversation. "<I can hear you, you know,>" she said in draconic pidgin.
Two kobolds stepped forth from a small side chamber, and she could hear several others being very quiet, probably with weapons readied and aimed at her. "<Who are you, and what do you want?>" one of the pair demanded, his P90 pointing at Hailey's chest.
"<Tell Tucker that Hlal Quicksilver is here. Tiamat has a couple of questions for him.>"
"<Anyone can make such a claim, human. You will need to… prove...>"
As the kobold had been speaking, Hlal had shifted them into the Ethereal plane. The seven kobolds all looked at where Hailey had been standing, to see the great copper wyrm Hlal. "<I am Hlal Aasternian, daughter of Io, Messenger to him, Tiamat and Bahamut. Is this proof enough for you, little ones?>" Her voice carried no heat or anger, just slight amusement. After that, they were all back in the tunnel.
"<Forgive us, great one,>" one of the pair grovelled. "<We will take you to Tucker.>"
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Kryslin
[Has Delusions of Authorship]
- Location
- Mythic Iowa
Ok, Marge is not Danny's secretary, she works for the Coast Guard office, and is the civilian secretary for CMDR V. Mortensen. He has a military secretary, too.
The name Marge came from my "I need a random name" program, and decided, WTH, let's have some fun.
The name Marge came from my "I need a random name" program, and decided, WTH, let's have some fun.
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So...fun fact. A "military secretary" isn't really a thing. There's the CSS (Commander's Support Staff, AKA Orderly Room), who often fill a lot of what would otherwise be a secretary's workload, but it's not the same.Ok, Marge is not Danny's secretary, she works for the Coast Guard office, and is the civilian secretary for Cmdr. V. Mortensen. He has a military secretary, too.
The name Marge came from my "I need a random name" program, and decided, WTH, let's have some fun.