Strange things in a foreign land. Rise and fall, then rise again.
Will of Wisps
- Thread starter TimelessThing
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
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- original
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- Ongoing
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Introduction
The region of Nesbitt is host to little outside its capital save hard, fallow earth and reeking bogs. Its ruler, the Baroness de Nesbitt, enjoys few comforts in her reign despite the privilege of nobility, and clings to this barren yet expansive land tenaciously lest she lose even that. Nesbitt's lack of natural resources and unfortunate vulnerability to barbarian incursions have ensured that, despite the deeply ingrained loyalty and staunch determination of its people, the barony is largely unmapped and severely underdeveloped in comparison to its fellows further west. Doomed to act as a buffer between the Seton Empire's agricultural heartland and the depredations of its enemies, it struggles hopelessly to resist its slow descent into economic and political irrelevance.
Fortunately, this only matters to you insofar as you occupy an otherwise uninhabited section of swampland alleged to be a part of the Barony de Nesbitt. The laws, politics and customs of the Setons are a mystery you have had little ability or inclination to unravel thus far in your existence, and if it weren't for the occasional traveler or war party's passage nearby you'd likely be ignorant of their vaunted empire entirely. No, what interests you is far simpler: the acquisition of a host.
And what sort of host will you acquire?
[] A Gremlin
- Tinkerer and troublemaker. A mind of broken gears.
[] A Pixie
- Magic flows like blood and tears. So very fragile.
[] A Troll
- Rotting from the core. A hothouse of peculiar dangers.
[X] Sludge?
- Unpredictable and unreliable. Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius.
[] Random
- Conserve your energy, gain a head start.
[] Bide your time
- You've waited long enough.
Fortunately, this only matters to you insofar as you occupy an otherwise uninhabited section of swampland alleged to be a part of the Barony de Nesbitt. The laws, politics and customs of the Setons are a mystery you have had little ability or inclination to unravel thus far in your existence, and if it weren't for the occasional traveler or war party's passage nearby you'd likely be ignorant of their vaunted empire entirely. No, what interests you is far simpler: the acquisition of a host.
And what sort of host will you acquire?
[] A Gremlin
- Tinkerer and troublemaker. A mind of broken gears.
[] A Pixie
- Magic flows like blood and tears. So very fragile.
[] A Troll
- Rotting from the core. A hothouse of peculiar dangers.
[X] Sludge?
- Unpredictable and unreliable. Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius.
[] Random
- Conserve your energy, gain a head start.
- You've waited long enough.
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Current Host
Reserved
Charge Bank
Reserved
Encyclopedia
Reserved
- Location
- The World
[X] Sludge?
- Unpredictable and unreliable. Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius.
[X] A Pixie
- Magic flows like blood and tears. So very fragile.
- Unpredictable and unreliable. Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius.
[X] A Pixie
- Magic flows like blood and tears. So very fragile.
I've set the vote to close at midnight tonight, EST. If things are still tied the outcome will be randomized between the front-runners. Thanks to those participating or reading.
[X] A Gremlin
- Tinkerer and troublemaker. A mind of broken gears.
Tinkers rule 4-eva!
- Tinkerer and troublemaker. A mind of broken gears.
Tinkers rule 4-eva!
- Location
- United States
[X] Sludge?
- Unpredictable and unreliable. Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius.
- Unpredictable and unreliable. Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius.
Vote 1 Results
Sludge has it. I'll probably be posting the update later tonight.
1-1
[X] Sludge?
For uncounted nights you have slumbered, near-deaf and blind to all. The snippets of conversation and insectile dronings which pierce your torpor are no reprieve, false hopes of freedom dashed with their invariable passing. What ephemeral dregs of sustenance you extract from the things which wander nearby only suffice to prevent your descent further from reality, yet alongside them you have gathered something far more valuable: a means to reclaim your life in full. It is a risk -- to fail in the attempt would be your final act -- but control over your fate is far too attractive a prize to pass up.
However, just as you prepare to gamble everything, something unexpected settles into your awareness: an organism filled to bursting with the energies you crave. Without warning it has appeared deep within the zone of your perception, undetected until it was nearly atop you. Briefly stunned, you soon realize that this is a means by which you could escape your coma without the desperate method you had planned. With all the -- admittedly scarce -- vigor you can muster, you burst from sleep to envelop the intruder and begin to weave your colors beneath its skin.
Your efforts are punished immediately. What you mistook for a being of flesh and blood proves instead an abomination. It is innumerable forces in conflict, your tattered memories supplying no identity to the thing you are now bound to. As you enter it you are split asunder fractally, your eager pseudopodia torn between impossibilities without a chance to resist. You find yourself unable to stop from flowing inwards -- and hardly want to, given the alternative of eternal sleep -- instead desperately trying to becalm the tides of chaos as you reach them.
With agonizing slowness you succeed, though you are unsure how. Your newfound host quiets in its metaphysical flailings and you tentatively situate yourself about what passes for its body. While the senses and thoughts of a host would normally be known to you, it would appear that this one exhibits neither. Your innate senses -- freshly restored alongside the rest of you -- are fortunately enough to provide a grasp of your surroundings: a dimly lit, fetid wetland of stinging flies, still waters and rotting trees. Turned upon your host, they finally regale you with its visage:
A bubbling, twitching mass of dark gel and debris, translucent in spots with flashes of light visible within. While you stopped what rogue processes were rending through it, it remains far from stable. There is no sign of hunger, thought, or activity beyond what is absolutely necessary for its classification as a living thing.
What do you want to do?
[] Leave the swamp
- While seemingly dead, this place seems unsafe. If this host dies like the last, you'd prefer to be in a better-trafficked part of the world.
[X] Search for leavings
- Visitors may not have been frequent, but there have been some. There is the slim possibility that they left something of value.
[]Wait for travelers
- You're far too eager to depart.
[] Write-in
For uncounted nights you have slumbered, near-deaf and blind to all. The snippets of conversation and insectile dronings which pierce your torpor are no reprieve, false hopes of freedom dashed with their invariable passing. What ephemeral dregs of sustenance you extract from the things which wander nearby only suffice to prevent your descent further from reality, yet alongside them you have gathered something far more valuable: a means to reclaim your life in full. It is a risk -- to fail in the attempt would be your final act -- but control over your fate is far too attractive a prize to pass up.
However, just as you prepare to gamble everything, something unexpected settles into your awareness: an organism filled to bursting with the energies you crave. Without warning it has appeared deep within the zone of your perception, undetected until it was nearly atop you. Briefly stunned, you soon realize that this is a means by which you could escape your coma without the desperate method you had planned. With all the -- admittedly scarce -- vigor you can muster, you burst from sleep to envelop the intruder and begin to weave your colors beneath its skin.
Your efforts are punished immediately. What you mistook for a being of flesh and blood proves instead an abomination. It is innumerable forces in conflict, your tattered memories supplying no identity to the thing you are now bound to. As you enter it you are split asunder fractally, your eager pseudopodia torn between impossibilities without a chance to resist. You find yourself unable to stop from flowing inwards -- and hardly want to, given the alternative of eternal sleep -- instead desperately trying to becalm the tides of chaos as you reach them.
With agonizing slowness you succeed, though you are unsure how. Your newfound host quiets in its metaphysical flailings and you tentatively situate yourself about what passes for its body. While the senses and thoughts of a host would normally be known to you, it would appear that this one exhibits neither. Your innate senses -- freshly restored alongside the rest of you -- are fortunately enough to provide a grasp of your surroundings: a dimly lit, fetid wetland of stinging flies, still waters and rotting trees. Turned upon your host, they finally regale you with its visage:
A bubbling, twitching mass of dark gel and debris, translucent in spots with flashes of light visible within. While you stopped what rogue processes were rending through it, it remains far from stable. There is no sign of hunger, thought, or activity beyond what is absolutely necessary for its classification as a living thing.
What do you want to do?
[] Leave the swamp
- While seemingly dead, this place seems unsafe. If this host dies like the last, you'd prefer to be in a better-trafficked part of the world.
[X] Search for leavings
- Visitors may not have been frequent, but there have been some. There is the slim possibility that they left something of value.
[]
- You're far too eager to depart.
[] Write-in
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- Location
- France
[X] Search for leavings
- Visitors may not have been frequent, but there have been some. There is the slim possibility that they left something of value.
- Visitors may not have been frequent, but there have been some. There is the slim possibility that they left something of value.
- Location
- United States
[X] Leave the swamp
- While seemingly dead, this place seems unsafe. If this host dies like the last, you'd prefer to be in a better-trafficked part of the world.
- While seemingly dead, this place seems unsafe. If this host dies like the last, you'd prefer to be in a better-trafficked part of the world.
ChildishChimera
A umbran summon
- Location
- New York
[X] Search for leavings
Vote Results 2
1-2
[X] Search for leavings
You hesitate. Despite your eagerness to move on from your erstwhile cage, there is an opportunity here. The Setons who sojourned near enough to be audible even in your comatose state must have established some sort of camp here -- one which would provide a better idea of your location and prospects than what little you remember. The threat to your departure from investigating would be minimal and even casting your senses about idly provides you with a site warranting closer inspection.
Moving ashore from the pond you once occupied you find a small, untended shrine. The visitors who passed by referred to the roughly-hewn figure within as "The Pauper", and left small offerings before resting here. What trinkets they brought are now gone, taken by some unknown trespasser. Unfortunately, you find little here besides the idol itself -- only a few stakes fallen in mud and the remains of a fire pit full of damp and rotting wood. Even if you had discovered something worth taking, your host's lack of a stable form would've made carrying it an ordeal unto itself. Experimentally lifting one of the stakes causes it to slowly disintegrate in the sludge's "palm" as it sinks through -- even tamed, the whorls of force within are too much to endure.
Disappointed but intent on pushing onward, you leave for the swamp's edge. Moving straight from the periodically-inhabited bank outwards should see you moving towards a more lively area, though it's unlikely you'll have much difficulty finding one given just how dead this wetland is. It's strange, in fact, as beyond the rot and bugs you encounter nothing living whatsoever in your egress. The sheer amount of water and the lifeless husks of trees which crowd you aren't consistent with your expectations of somewhere so devoid of activity.
Your host suddenly comes alight with energy. Alarmed, you prepare for another exhausting bout of tranquilizing its strange innards only to find them stable, though in a radically different configuration from how you'd left them. Cautiously resuming your travel you are startled again, as the awkward, rolling motion you had adopted for movement has become far smoother and quicker, more akin to a snake's slithering than the amoebic oozing expected. It seems that whatever occurred has enhanced your host's motor functions to a very noticeable degree. This lasts until your approach to the swamp's very perimeter before collapsing back into the same unintuitive and inefficient structure you had forced it into initially.
Finally free of the swamp, in open air under the pitch-black sky, you are able to plot your course.
[] {Course} Time to head west, towards Seton territory. They're supposed to be powerful, and power means opportunity.
[] {Course} Time to head east, towards barbarian territory. If the Setons find them worth sending troops against, maybe they'll be worth meeting.
[] {Course} Time to head north, away from humanity. They're not likely to take to your new host kindly, after all.
[] {Course} You vaguely remember a trick for detecting population centers. See if you can use it.
[] {Course} Write-in
The inability to hold anything solid without it gradually discorporating is concerning, and you aren't exactly happy with how your host's performance is fluctuating.
[] {Sludge} You should try to get things under control.
[] {Sludge} It's not exactly a problem just yet. Better leave things be for now.
Calling your host "your host" or "the sludge" is cumbersome. Maybe you should name it, or at least come up with something more palatable.
[] {Host} Write-in
[] {Host} There's no consciousness here besides your own. Refer to it as you would your own body.
[] {Host} No, better to call it what it is.
The "trick for detecting population centers" has a 50/50 chance of having you move towards or away from one, as you don't remember how to read the results.
Your luck here was... perfectly normal. Very little happening, good or bad, though there wasn't too much chance of either to begin with.
You hesitate. Despite your eagerness to move on from your erstwhile cage, there is an opportunity here. The Setons who sojourned near enough to be audible even in your comatose state must have established some sort of camp here -- one which would provide a better idea of your location and prospects than what little you remember. The threat to your departure from investigating would be minimal and even casting your senses about idly provides you with a site warranting closer inspection.
Moving ashore from the pond you once occupied you find a small, untended shrine. The visitors who passed by referred to the roughly-hewn figure within as "The Pauper", and left small offerings before resting here. What trinkets they brought are now gone, taken by some unknown trespasser. Unfortunately, you find little here besides the idol itself -- only a few stakes fallen in mud and the remains of a fire pit full of damp and rotting wood. Even if you had discovered something worth taking, your host's lack of a stable form would've made carrying it an ordeal unto itself. Experimentally lifting one of the stakes causes it to slowly disintegrate in the sludge's "palm" as it sinks through -- even tamed, the whorls of force within are too much to endure.
Disappointed but intent on pushing onward, you leave for the swamp's edge. Moving straight from the periodically-inhabited bank outwards should see you moving towards a more lively area, though it's unlikely you'll have much difficulty finding one given just how dead this wetland is. It's strange, in fact, as beyond the rot and bugs you encounter nothing living whatsoever in your egress. The sheer amount of water and the lifeless husks of trees which crowd you aren't consistent with your expectations of somewhere so devoid of activity.
Your host suddenly comes alight with energy. Alarmed, you prepare for another exhausting bout of tranquilizing its strange innards only to find them stable, though in a radically different configuration from how you'd left them. Cautiously resuming your travel you are startled again, as the awkward, rolling motion you had adopted for movement has become far smoother and quicker, more akin to a snake's slithering than the amoebic oozing expected. It seems that whatever occurred has enhanced your host's motor functions to a very noticeable degree. This lasts until your approach to the swamp's very perimeter before collapsing back into the same unintuitive and inefficient structure you had forced it into initially.
Finally free of the swamp, in open air under the pitch-black sky, you are able to plot your course.
[] {Course} Time to head west, towards Seton territory. They're supposed to be powerful, and power means opportunity.
[] {Course} Time to head east, towards barbarian territory. If the Setons find them worth sending troops against, maybe they'll be worth meeting.
[] {Course} Time to head north, away from humanity. They're not likely to take to your new host kindly, after all.
[] {Course} You vaguely remember a trick for detecting population centers. See if you can use it.
[] {Course} Write-in
The inability to hold anything solid without it gradually discorporating is concerning, and you aren't exactly happy with how your host's performance is fluctuating.
[] {Sludge} You should try to get things under control.
[] {Sludge} It's not exactly a problem just yet. Better leave things be for now.
Calling your host "your host" or "the sludge" is cumbersome. Maybe you should name it, or at least come up with something more palatable.
[] {Host} Write-in
[] {Host} There's no consciousness here besides your own. Refer to it as you would your own body.
[] {Host} No, better to call it what it is.
The "trick for detecting population centers" has a 50/50 chance of having you move towards or away from one, as you don't remember how to read the results.
Your luck here was... perfectly normal. Very little happening, good or bad, though there wasn't too much chance of either to begin with.
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- Location
- Who Knows Where
[X] You vaguely remember a trick for detecting population centers. See if you can use it.
[] Time to head east, towards barbarian territory. If the Setons find them worth sending troops against, maybe they'll be worth meeting.
[X] You should try to get things under control.
[X] Nya, meaning "purpose".
A little torn on location, but being able to hold valuables or useful things like a map would be good.
[] Time to head east, towards barbarian territory. If the Setons find them worth sending troops against, maybe they'll be worth meeting.
[X] You should try to get things under control.
[X] Nya, meaning "purpose".
A little torn on location, but being able to hold valuables or useful things like a map would be good.
I changed the voting format to include categories in the votes, as having multiple write-in options can make things confusing. You don't need to change yours unless you want to, I'll count them either way.
[X] {Course} Time to head north, away from humanity. They're not likely to take to your new host kindly, after all.
[X] {Sludge} You should try to get things under control.
[X] {Host} Liqu
[X] {Host} Whimsy
[X] {Host} Falfa
[X] {Host} Shalsha
I just put the names of slimes with names from some novels i remembered.
If approval voting isn't allowed then i will vote for only one.
[X] {Sludge} You should try to get things under control.
[X] {Host} Liqu
[X] {Host} Whimsy
[X] {Host} Falfa
[X] {Host} Shalsha
I just put the names of slimes with names from some novels i remembered.
If approval voting isn't allowed then i will vote for only one.
You're fine. As long as it's comprehensible, I don't really care how people vote.