Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
Frigging... I swear I put a threadmark in when I was making up the post.
Thanks for noticing.
You also haven't updated the character sheet yet.Frigging... I swear I put a threadmark in when I was making up the post.
Thanks for noticing.
Cut her some slack, she works nightshifts, she's probably a step away from passing out right now.
I was getting rather nervous at the lack of invisitext at first lol So, we can read runes, which could mean we might be able to write them as well? Otherwise we're suffering from amnesia or something like that.[X] Get up and take stock of things. (Choose up to 2)
-[X] Check your inventory
-[X] Examine your wounds?
Slowly you get up, working the familiar stiffness of sleeping on hard ground out of your muscles as you rise. The cave is just tall enough to stand in and just deep enough that you cannot see the outside clearly beyond it's mouth, but there's just enough space to stretch each limb one at a time. You brow furrows as you work the soreness out of your sides. At first you flinch instinctively as you remember the wound but no sudden stab of pain comes. In fact, there is no pain at all.
A quick investigation reveals no bandages and no wound, not even a scar. "Was that... Part of the dream then? But I could have sworn..." For a moment your headache intensifies but the feeling ebbs rapidly. It must have been part of the dream after all then, not something that actually happened right? When he drew steel, you shot his hand before he could make the first swing.
Right... That was how it went.
Gods, that dream was so frighteningly vivid, and at the same time, so utterly nondescript, just grey and grey and grey everywhere...
You shake your head. Now is not the time for this introspection.
Your coat is folded up next to your lightly padded bedroll, a little dusty from the cavern floor, but otherwise in good enough repair. Atop it rests your mentor's pistol, your pistol now you suppose, what with her being dead and all. A grim smile comes over your face as you remember the sight of that man on the floor, her killer, bleeding out from the shot you put in his gut.
You can't say you weren't... Satisfied on some visceral level, watching him writhe and bleed and die.
You're not sure how you feel about that.
Revenge isn't supposed to feel good... Right?A pack sits at the foot of your bedroll, and a quick examination reveals that you at least thought ahead enough to pack some food. It's not much, a few days worth of rations at most, a week if you can forage for more along the way, but it's something. A wheel of old and crumbling cheese, a variety of dried or salted meats taken from the larder of your estate on your way out the door, and a large tin marked with a handful of runes.
Chilling, containment... Ah!You had almost forgotten you could read runes... When did you learn?You didn't remember grabbing this, but as it was you were beginning to suspect you didn't remember a lot of things about the past week or so. Perhaps longer. Still, even a minor runescripture artifact such as this container (designed to keep food chilled and preserved for the road) was incredibly valuable.
Unfortunately, while food seems to be reasonably plentiful, the rest of the pack contains only a single change of clothes and a handful of other sundries such as candles, a small length of rope, and a blank leatherbound journal.
Typical to your planning, you apparently did not think to grab pen or ink though.
Something to worry about later you suppose.
Just as you are re-packing the bag, you hear a shuffling from outside the cavern. Someone moving around near the mouth of the cave.
What do you do?
[] Write in...
Cut her some slack, she works nightshifts, she's probably a step away from passing out right now.