absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/18/2016
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Fallen London is © 2015 and ™ Failbetter Games Limited: www.fallenlondon.com. This is an unofficial fan work. All rights in this work are ceded to Failbetter Games.
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Across Fallen London several people have the same dream.
Perhaps you are one of them.
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People bustle at Mrs. Plenty's Circus. Crowds jostle. Outside the House of Mirrors a mixed crew of zailors and vicious-looking longshoremen keep anyone from entering. Within a table has been set for dinner, seated around it are a Pirate from the Isle of Cats, a tiger, a midnight black cat, a Striking Woman, and a Curious Captain.
The conversation is desultory, the Captain filled with nervous energy. A decision reached they rise. The tiger paces back and forth in front the mirrors, tail flicking aggressively. The Captain straps on a backpack, and settles a red pirate-hat so old it is crushed down to nearly a beret on their head.
The Curious Captain pauses before one of the mirrors. The tiger rumbles "Of all your decisions this has to be the most foolish." The Captain grins back at the tiger wickedly. The tiger continues, "I suppose. You did bring . .. .
The Captain nods, suddenly serious, and raises two fingers, then answers "Two." The tiger growls, "Even more dangerously stupid.
Savage hob-nailed boots scrape the wood floor of the House of Mirros as the Captain steps forward towards, then into, one of the mirrors. The tiger shakes a massive head, and pads silently into the mirror behind them.
The two can be seen to say a few words to each other, but sound doesn't pass through the mirror to the party at Mrs. Plenty's. They then vanish from sight.
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/18/2016
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Two figures pause near a cluster of tree roots growing from the base of a fallen pillar -- one human, one feline.
The tiger speaks, "I really don't think the backpack goes with the red dress.
The human responds, "What would you know? I bet you agree with A________ that I shouldn't wear hob-nailed boots with it either." The tiger chuffs in amusement.
It is so hot, the air shimmers. "I'll bet you regret the dress being of velvet, " the tiger taunts. "No more than you your fur," the human replies, "besides, it's tough enough to hold up to the bracken and thorns this way.
A splintered course of stones splits like an old timber, one half of the fallen pillar leading into the jungle, the other to the fallen walls of a temple.
The Curious Captain curses. "B____y Hells! The Temple again. I thought we'd lost it." The tiger looks up at the Captain. "You know it always tries to lead you back to London. We have to get away from it if we're to get further into the Marches.
Sighing the tiger turns from the cool shade of the ruined temple, back towards the shimmering heat of the jungle.
The Captain pulls a silk handkerchief out from non-existant cleavage and dabs at their forehead, wiping beaded sweat away.
"I hate these early dreams. We need a better route out of the Marches.
The tiger growls, "Or a cooler one, at least." Ahead of them Cosmogone Sunlight strikes through the foliage, illuminating a patch of flowers like -- you've forgotten what....
edited by absimiliard for typing, "It had to be typing." </Indiana Jones>
edited by absimiliard on 4/18/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/18/2016
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The Tiger and the Captain walk beneath a jungle canopy far above them. Smaller trees dot the mostly open area covered with forest litter and scrub. The Captain complains vociferously about how slow their progress has been. They note how the two have barely made it past three dreams in the time they've been here. ". . . At this rate we shan't even reach the Misermere in a week."
The Tiger, wise enough to have kept it's mouth shut until now decides to finally speak. "Assuming you don't get lost, and we can get out of here, and you are right about the route.
The Captain grins, teeth showing, a friendly display. "Ahhh. Well, I have just the answer for that." They extend a finger upwards, to the vine-wrapped branches of a low tree nearby. As the two approach the bough bends, lowering a ruby red cluster of grapes into reach.
"Oh no, you know what that does," the Tiger objects. "Indeed," counters the Captain. "And, when I wake again it should be a new dream. There's no surer way to break out of a dream. Besides, you'll be right here, to be sure nothing bad happens." The Tiger's tail flicks agitatedly, it snarls, and bats at the branch, snapping it off cleanly. The Captain reaches out and plucks the grapes from the ground, and eats a few.
"Delicious, as alway . . . " their breathe catches, ". . ohh dear . . .. ahhhh . ... . AGGHHHHH!!" Eyes bulge, hands strain at an engorged throat -- filled with branches. A face turns red, then purple as breath is choked from life. Red skirts fill a semi-circle around a corseted body collapsed on the jungle floor.
A Tiger roars.
* * *
The Curious Captain wakes in the early morning, all still dark, curled up in a ball with their back to a Tiger. As they rise they wince at a twinge in their throat, and cough out a tiny piece of twig. "Ah well, one dream, one wound," they whisper.
The light of dawn begins to creep into what is revealed as a new forest. The scent of roses fills the air.
"Up and at 'em Tiger!" The Captain leaps on the Tiger, the two wrestle for a bit. "It's a new day Dawon. Now let's go find that mirror I want, you know the one, you said it was near, it can't have shifted that much in the new dream." The two set off, the Captain folding up a torn page from their book.
"You're not going to tell her you died are you?" The Tiger sounds concerned. "Oh, no. She'd worry far too much," the Captain answers, "I'll tell her all of it in detail when I return. It wasn't as if it was important anyway, not really. Just a doorway. Really....
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On a dressing table in Fallen London, next to face-paints and perfumes; a letter. "Finally made some progress away from the Temple. Frustratingly slow, but things should improve with a new day. Oh, and fair warning, should you ever arrive here, avoid the grapes. -A"
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/23/2016
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Ten. I have ten heartbeats before I have to breathe. My chest burns as I spin, taking things in. If I can not escape the trees restraining and trying to kill me I am doomed. Even if I can break free there are yards of yellow lilies between me and the clearing's edge, behind me tens times as much distance. One breathe, just one, and the lilies shall fell me with their scent, and the trees feast on my corpse.
Nine. I tear free from the branches prisoning my arms. Sharp twigs skitter off of, or break on, hard gauntlets made of chitin from Savior's Reach. Long ago, when I sharpened my nails down to vicious points, I had the fingertips removed to expose my claws. I tear at the golden flowers twining around my legs, the skirts have proven a poor choice in this fight.
Eight. Blood flows down my corset from the branches at my shoulder. As I tear free from two trees tears of pain blur my vision. At least my choice to wear red is vindicated.
Seven, six, five..... I race towards the edge of the clearing. My heart wants to burst, my lungs burn as if on fire, and I can not tell if the pain in my side is a stitch in the muscle or if one of the branches has pierced my sprung-steel corsetry to wound me. I hear branches breaking behind me, I have no time to look back but Dawon must be free.
Four. I'm slowing. Blood-loss makes me giddy. I pray to my maker, wasted effort, 'Salt, please. If I fall let P_______ find and end whatever returns in my skin.' Dawon flies past me, tigers move so d___ably fast. Haunches coil and, like springs, release flinging over five hundred pounds of angry tiger at the trees blocking our only exit. With his last breath he roars a battlecry. Paws that can snap a buffalo's neck in a single blow wreak havoc amongst the trees, but there are too many.
Three. Staggering forward I watch as Dawon again breaks free, scattering the enemy. The gap in the trees reveals what lies beyond -- a hill covered in yellow lilies sloping down to a lake in the distance. The Misermere, but far too far. Dawon collapses asleep, felled by the lilies. The trees advance. We have lost.
Two. My legs give out, and I collapse to hands and knees. There is no point in continuing further.
One. I hope she doesn't grieve too long. Let him be good to her.
A fire rises inside me, rage, despair, hatred. As I throw back my head it consumes me. I scream -- things no human throat could speak in the real world.
I scream in Fire.
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Deep in the Mirror Marches the Correspondence of Dreams burns and catches fire. Around the Captain flowers vanish as the PROPERTIES OF NUMBERS change. Trees turn to stone, petrifying all around the man crawling towards a wounded tiger as LIGNEFACTION AND PETRIFICATION take hold. But nothing proves as destructive as the last, WAR WITH FIRE AND WATER -- screamed as the Captain collapses unconscious -- all around the Captain and the Tiger water flashes to fire, and the forest explodes into flame.
A forest fire rages. Oddly, as before, the dying forest heals both man and tiger, somewhat.
Such is logic in dreams.
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/24/2016
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Gorse chokes the valley surrounding the Misermere, each thorn as sharp and bright as an ice-pick. The waters of the Misermere are deep green -- the heart of a rotting emerald -- cosmogone glints in the waves echoing back the sunlight from above. Two figures push through and emerge at the banks of a small brook leading to the lake. The Curious Captain's dress has been ripped to rags, the Tiger's flanks are beaded with blood from un-numbered pricks of the thorns. They stop in the shade, beneath burgundy trees, "What is flesh here?," the Captain muses, "Or even clothes, when they can be remade?
"About two nights of rest and recovery, plus aches and pains that can't heal until we return to waking," the Tiger grumbles.
The Captain nods, "Fair point that." They bend down and pick something glinting beneath the stream's surface, a handful of coins from unheard of kingdoms. One is stamped with a silver tree. Another bears a coiling ouroboros on it's face. The third sits, coldly, in their palm, white as the North Wind's door. The Captain puts the lot away in their backpack, "I know they shan't last, being dreams, but my memories of them should."
The two rest for a time. The Captain re-reads a letter, and takes a long slow sniff at the envelope, savoring the scents from reality. They pen a few lines in their book for when they next find a certain, particular, mirror. In the stream the Tiger swims, chasing fish in an enjoyable but pointless game of tag -- a game with delicious, if lethal, consequences for one of the parties.
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A folded sheet of neatly printed letters sits, waiting, on a table before a mirror.
"Success! We have at last forced our way to the shores of the Misermere. I fear the battle with the lilies and their allies has left a blasted wasteland of stone trunks and ashes in it's wake, but Dawon and I have emerged triumphant! And now, after some days resting, to tend to his wounds, we have finally reached the lake. I can see the tombs of the Prince-Bishop and his ancestors in the distance on the shore. I am certain we're nearing my goal, the route out of the Marches and into Parabola at large.
"I am pleased the Bishop took my advice and contacted you. I know he is fiercely strong, but you can be terribly deadly-quick, but his advantage in reach must be dreadful, though he lacks any flexibility in comparison to you. May I wager that you only narrowly lost when he got a paw on you after you almost evaded him long enough to wear him down? I am prepared to offer the traditional Dare as my hazard, unless you can think of a better one?
I should be cautious of the Devils, but you know my history with them, we each Fascinate the other as a fascinated Prey is the most easy to capture. Having seduced what must be half of Veilgarden's most attractive people, and a great many men and women at court I can personally attest that Fascination is a deadly game, one I have finally despaired of ever kindling warmth in my heart. Follow your curiosity as you must, I should Never advise otherwise, but be wary -- and at least promise me you'll allow nothing to pass your lips at any Abstractions. I can not forget how they drugged me to insensibility, I still can not recall what happened that night, it is quite surprising I escaped with my soul. I should grieve if you were to lose yours, for you to be so dulled -- to lose your bright edges and sharp points -- would be a crime.
"I should not blame Storm entirely for his feelings. Consider the prize in question. To lose such a thing would drive one to distraction, even the thought of it must be agonizing -- I mean, I assume.
"I can not think of any gift you could send me here that means as much, or could bring me such strength. I wish I had something of equal value to offer. Words fail. Thank you, my dearest friend.
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/25/2016
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Warm amber rays dapple the coat of a reclining but agitated Tiger. An emerald-legged fly slowly buzzes down to land near an ear. The ear twitches, the Tiger snarls and shakes its head sending the fly buzzing away. Birds cross in the air, small creatures scurry in the brush, something swims in the nearby lake, but the Tiger's eyes never leave its Enemy.
Neither the Enemy nor the Tiger are willing to make the first move. The Tiger's ears twitch, and pin flat back against it's skull. The Enemy shifts, sinuous, changing sides. The Tiger barely blinks, and the Enemy flicks away to their other flank. The Tiger leaps back, spinning, and snarling, then freezing.
The Enemy seems to have lost the Tiger, it twists anxiously. The Tiger sits, and takes a moment, it pants, scenting the wind and looking about. The Sun blazes down on a lake, quite large, with a multitude of streams feeding it creating a mix of forest, marsh, and meadow all about. The beach is sandy, and the Tiger knows the water is warm -- his friend the Curious Captain is still disporting themselves in the water. Not far from the shore is a small causewayed island, on it stands a stately tomb.
Suddenly the Tiger tenses, as does the Enemy. They sight one another. This rivalry has existed since the dawn of . . . well, since as long as the Tiger or their Enemy can remember. The Tiger's paw, like lightning, flashes out. The Enemy is too quick and the Tiger misses by the tiniest bit. The Tiger snarls, the Enemy tenses and readies for the Tigers next attack.
Birds burst forth and scatter as the tiger roars and attacks. Spinning madly the pair of combatants send sand spraying. Neither prevailing before exhaustion fells both, they each collapse, the Tiger panting heavily.
"It's your tail," the Captain says ironically as they rise up from the waves. The Tiger snorts.
Water drips down the Captain's chest to rejoin the lake, he steps forth onto the sand. His hair is still white, and short -- barring a zailor's forelock. Sun-burnished skin covers him just down to his rib-cage, below which the skin is snow-white, an odd white patch of skin also surrounds his eyes -- like a bandit's mask, or a shadow of a forearm. His frame is lean with whipcord muscles well suited to long-distance running or swimming, a classic balance beloved of the ancient Greeks. A scar at his shoulder remains from the battle against the Trees, there are others as well from older battles. In his eyes cosmogone flecks gleam, reflecting the Sun above.
Across the water, at the tomb, a figure rises, and stretches out long limbs. They begin to clap as the Captain first emerges from the water, "Aren't we just the veritable Adonis," the Ophidian Gentleman comments. He briefly glances down as the Captain steps up from the waves, tongue caressing lower lip, "and . . . more as well I see." He looks back up at the Captain's face. "I have been sent to speak with you again.
The Captain snarls wordlessly, teeth baring as lips peel back. Suddenly, sword-cane in hand, he leaps toward the causeway almost twenty yards away. Distance halves, then halves again, and again, as dreams ripple out changes. The Captain lands on the island with nothing more than Salt gave him, save blade in hand. The Tiger leaps into the water, swimming towards the island.
Alarmed the Gentleman barely draws a curved sword in time to parry.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/25/2016
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Beneath a blood-red sky, at the edge of a causeway leading from island to shore, a gentleman and a madman duel with swords. The gentlemen is finely dressed in the most current of London fashions and wields in two hands a scimitar of an ancient style -- the two and a half foot long blade barely curves until the very end, the edge wickedly sharp -- there is something disturbingly snaky about him. The madman is naked, in one hand a three foot long length of steel tapering to a vicious point, in the other hand he holds the cane that once concealed the blade.
In the lake a Tiger strokes powerfully towards the island.
"Arbiter! Cease this, I'm here to speak," the Gentleman slides backwards, away, parrying a thrust of the blade with a deft twist of the wrist, but receiving a rap on his thigh from the cane that once sheathed the blade. "I carry diplomatic immunity to the Court of Cats, you risk war.
The Curious Captain snarls, and leaps after the Ophidian Gentleman. Steel rings as attacks are deflected. "I'm no member of that Court, they merely commissioned me, so your death at my hands will do nothing -- beyond satisfying me greatly." The Captain advances, attacking, the Gentleman continues retreating for a moment, then bounds atop a great tomb.
Striking down at the Captain from above the Gentleman gains significant advantage. A two-handed blow shatters the mahogany cane into splinters, driving the Captain back from their attempt to climb up atop the tomb. "Well, then I guess I shall enjoy this." The Ophidian Gentleman smiles an oily smile and leaps back down, advancing and attacking.
The attack succeeds in driving the Captain backwards. Cosmogone flashes from blades spinning and thrusting in the sunlight. The sounds of steel clashing with steel fill the island. Then, suddenly, two bodies crash together -- blades crossed between them -- both straining to force their opponent's blade down. The first to overwhelm the other's strength will surely gain advantage.
The Gentleman sneers at the Captain, inches separate the two, "I was hoping to get you to turn back, to stop the war you'll start if you succeed. But killing you will be ever so much more delicious." The Captain snarls, and strains, freeing their left hand for a brief moment.
Flashing forward with the speed of a striking snake, or cat, the Captain's fist jabs at the Ophidian Gentleman's face -- and connects with a meaty crunch, squashing his nose and driving him backwards. The Gentleman stumbles as he backpedals, and falls to a knee, he raises his blade with one hand while the other wipes at his nose and comes down bloody. "Devils! You'll pay for that," the Gentleman swears. The Captain shakes his head and says the Gentleman has forgotten something. "Forgot what?" questions the gentleman. The Captain answers.
"I brought a Tiger.
Dawon roars and over five hundred pounds of enraged tiger fly out of the concealing brush to crash into the servant of the Fingerkings, slamming both Gentleman and Tiger hard against a marble tomb. The Ophidian Gentleman explodes into a spray of vipers, most of which succeed in reaching the lake and vanish beneath it's waters.
"Did you bring a Tiger?" the Captain quips.
"Could you put on some clothes?" the Tiger asks. "We should get moving.
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/19/2016
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High up in a lightning-blasted tree trunk a Curious Captain perches on a thick branch. One hand holds tight to a liana wrapped around the tree-trunk. Their attention is on runes carved into dead bark.
Below the Tiger paces. It opens its mouth wide, nostrils flare, as it scents the wind. "There's trouble coming, you need to hurry." It calls up to the Captain.
"Another moment Dawon. I'm almost finished deciphering these," the Captain answers back. "I know it will draw me back towards London, and alert both Temple and Snakes as to where I am. But this isn't about lignefaction or petrification. This is new. I think . . . " they pause, considering the Correspondence script, though the years have split the cuts in the bark wide and gaping. "I think .. . this is .. ., " their voice suddenly shifts, spectral, booming . .. *PROPERTIES OF NUMBERS*
Correspondance -- spoken -- booms out through the forest. Echoes return and fade, again, and again. The air itself seems to ripple and twist. The bark begins to burn, the tree catches fire in moments.
The Captain leaps down from the burning tree-branch. The Tiger backs away from the flames, eyes glittering in fire-light. Raising a hand the Captain approaches the trunk and places their palm on it. Flames fade as wood turns to stone in a ripple spreading out from their hand. In moments the entire blasted tree has been petrified. But the Runes have been burned from the bark high above.
"We've lost almost a full dream in feeding that knowledge," the Captain comments. The Tiger counters, "But you're learning new things, new secrets. If you can master the properties of numbers as you have stone I think it shall have been worth the lost travel."
The Captain nods. "I think I agree cousin, I think I agree.
In sun-dappled jungle a Curious Captain walks, at their side A Tiger.
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On a dressing room table, near a make-up mirror and perfumes, lies a folded up sheet of paper torn from a book. "Dear Heart, I have but a moment to linger here, we are pursued as I have announced my presence to All most recently. I am glad to hear your meeting with Mr. G__ has gone well so far -- perhaps he shall be the fulfillment of dreams for which we both hope. For myself, I have learned new things here, secrets of Petrification and Lignefaction, of Numbers and Mirrors. I am now certain I shall be able to spot any Reflections, and tell if they are such or the original. On my return we shall set your mind to ease. -A"
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/19/2016
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Even the Mirror Marches have a sun, blazing cosmogone. As it sinks towards a horizon hidden by the jungle dappled spots of cosmogone turn to lengthening shadows. The sounds of the jungle change as well, in the distance monkeys set up screaming matches. Soon it is twilight.
"Not bad for a second day," says a Curious Captain. They stride from shadow to shadow, ever steady in their course. "I reckon we walked right through four dreams." Their voice sounds quite satisfied. A soft chorus of squeaks and chirps starts up as it gets darker. Soon pinpricks of light, stars, can be seen peeking through the forest canopy.
At the Captain's side a Tiger pads along silently, and then speaks, "No deaths today. Good distance. We're not likely to have it so easy further in." Suddenly they stop, sit down, and begin gnawing at an itch on a hind foot. The Captain stops, turns and comes back.
"I suppose this is as good a place to rest as any," the Captain puts forth, gathering up a pile of papers and notes spilling forth from a nearby mirror and starting a fire with them. They look at one, a business card, "Hrmmm. Perhaps useful. Pity they signed it in Irrigo ink, I'll never remember whose card it is." They tuck it away in the backpack none the less.
The Tiger curls up near the fire, after pawing a clear space on the ground, then turning around in it several times. As it blinks slowly the Captain curls up against it. The Tiger rumbles, beginning a low purr, and starts grooming a leg, with a lick on the Captain's arm tossed in. "Hey," objects the slight human, "that tongue's rough, if you missed my gauntlet and caught flesh that would hurt.
The Tiger does not dignify the comment with a response.
The Captain settles in against their friend, and falls into a dreamless sleep.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/20/2016
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As a Postal Rat, burdened by a mailbag stuffed to the brim, ducks back into a mirror the Curious Captain quips, "Paradoxical, a Parabolan Postal rat Producing Possibly Portentious . ... " The Captain gropes for another 'P'-word. The Tiger growls in warning. "Oh, very well, I'll admit, I was reaching anyway." They open a letter and start to read. "Two days there she says." They look a bit confused, "It's been three here.
The Tiger interjects, "We're still close to the City. We've only what, twenty people's dreams to pass through to get back? Time is still close. It will get further, and weaker, soon.
The Captain reads on. "She mentions Mr. G__, but not K_______x. I guess she's busy enough with life. But I wish that, following a famine, she should instead choose to sample from a variety of dishes, as if at a feast. How can one learn one's tastes if one doesn't try many different dishes....
With a cough the Tiger comments, "Metaphorically, of course." The Captain agrees, of course.
The scent of roses fills the air, and begins to grow stronger as the two walk on. Their conversation drops away in time, a comfortable silence. Soon the scent of the flowers becomes cloying, thick, heavier than the damp rot of the jungle, which now seems clean by comparison. The Captain pulls the red beret-like hat from their head and fans their self as they stop before a particularly thick wall of thorns and bracken. Helped by the Tiger the two push through, to a sun-filled hillside covered in yellow roses. The Captain picks one, "Do you think she'd . . .
"Blast!" The Tiger snarls in frustration. "You keep stopping to talk to cats, you won't stop thinking of her, the Temple keeps following us, and . . . and, you have the audacity to wonder why our progress is slow!" It gets in front of the Captain and turns, blocking their progress, "I can understand stopping to learn more secrets from the Gnomic Trees. And, yes, the Temple will always be right behind us, just a turn around over-your-shoulder and there it is. But you have to stop thinking on the City, you need to be here, not there. You'll find out how she got on with S___ G__, or anyone else, when we get back, and you know she'll write.
The Tiger growls, and advances on his friend. The Captain starts to back away, then changes their mind and stops, then crouches -- centering and getting balanced for a fight -- if they had ears that could swivel they would be pinned back. Two sets of eyes narrow, two throats growl.
A tense moment hangs in the air.
Suddenly the Captain straightens up, as they'd clearly meant to do all along, and wipes at their scalp with the hat. "Of course, you're right. No more meetings with the Landgrave of the Waswood, at least after I tell him I really must be going on, it wouldn't do to be uncivilized about this." They pull a container of makeup from their backpack and dab at red lips, fixing up things.
The Tiger starts energetically grooming at a paw, a hair or two are out of place, clearly more important than anything else. "Fine. But it's the last time. We need to move on. And where did you get that makeup? I know you didn't pack it when we left London." The Captain shrugs, dismissively.
Finally back in perfectly groomed shape the two figures turn around and head away from the roses, away from the Temple.
Behind them the Temple watches -- then follows.
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/20/2016
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The Curious Captain stomps out of the underbrush into a clearing, hob-nailed boots tearing at grass, and come to a stop at a small pond. Looking up they notice a great tiger across the water. Bold as brass they bow, a formal, courtly, bow -- suited to the Empress's Court. The tiger pads around the pond, approaching on paws capable of snapping the neck of a water-buffalo with a single blow.
A second tiger comes out of the underbrush behind the Captain. Both cats freeze on spotting the other, the larger -- the one at the pond -- stays where it is. The smaller of the two comes around the Captain and rubs shoulders up against the first tiger, and receives several grooming licks on its head in return. "It is good to see you Cousin," says the smaller. "Dawon," the larger acknowledges.
The Captain approaches, "Landgrave. A pleasure to see you again. I hope the Prince-Bishop is well. I fear we must be moving on, and I also fear I must apologize -- in the future I fear I must avoid your pleasant company.
The larger tiger growls, low, in protest, "And for what reason that? Something Snaky no doubt.
The Captain explains, "Nothing so sinister Sir. I have discovered that your own noble self, and our other friend's presences all, draw me inevitably back towards the City. As I mean to explore the Marches and map a route out into all of Parabola I must therefor forsake your company." The tiger nods in understanding. The Captain gestures at their companion. "I do wonder at how Dawon here does not do likewise?"
The Landgrave answers, "Oh, it is the simplest of reasons. I, as with our other cousins, am here in dreams. We are anchored to our bodies, and selves, and that anchor can help save those lost in Mirrors. Dawon and yourself were foolish enough to enter the realm directly, and have no such anchor, and risk ever so much more should the Snakes find and take you." The tiger yawns, and rises "I shall leave you to your journey then. I shall spread word that you are not to be helped to return to the City, if you truly do seek your Fate, well, there's enough of the Bold Kitten left in you that I shall see to it you are indulged.
The Captain bows again. "You do me great honor Sir. I shall endeavor to not sully it with failure. Be so kind as to convey my regards to the Tiger Keeper as well, I look forward to our next gazelle together, perhaps you shall join us." The Landgrave's ears flick in amused agreement.
Beneath a Sun that Is Not, near a Wood That Was, two Tigers part company -- each seeking their own destiny. Alongside one a Curious Captain walks, whistling Zee-shanties as they chart their course through dreams.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/21/2016
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It is a little known fact that recent experiments have conclusively proven that not only can sorrow spiders transport themselves from mirror to mirror, but that they need neither see nor even know of their destination mirror's existence.
* * *
The Mirror Marches at night is a very different place. Cold, blue-ish, light from a moon hanging low in the sky changes the jungle into something mysterious and dangerous.
At the base of a tree a mirror-frame flashes silvery-blue. A small sorrow-spider climbs out of the frame. The spider is the size of a small dog, though most of it is legs. Unlike most sorrow-spiders this one is clearly a pet, it's hair has been brushed and coiffed to perfection, tiny red ribbons edged with gold-lace are tie up it's locks. It pauses, looking back, then skitters about a bit. Not finding what it is looking for it turns, and leaps back into the mirror-frame. The Spider bounds out of another mirror frame further in the Marches and repeats its search before vanishing into that mirror. Again, and again, it continues further into the dream-lands.
When it emerges near a small fire it stops. The Spider circles it warily, taking care to never stray into the circle of light. Near the fire are two figures, a large orange and black striped cat and curled up next to it asleep a madman with eyes of Correspondence. Quietly the Spider approaches. It can smell the eyes, ripe with the power of Correspondence, and fortified with insanity -- if such is not the stuff of dreams it certainly seems so to the Spider.
The Spider freezes as the madman shifts, turning slightly, and curling up with face tucked in under arms. As they settle back into a deeper sleep the Spider creeps forward, eyeing the situation. It pauses, torn by a difficult decision. The eyes are so perfect, it wants them terribly bad. But at the tips of fingers are nails sharpened to claws, and on arms are gauntlets of spider-chitin far too thick to pierce with tiny spider-fangs. A bite to the neck or shoulders might work, but then there's the Tiger to contend with. A quick snatch of an eye would put it far too close to those claws if the target isn't poisoned.... More important, their mistress will be terribly unhappy if they took this one's eyes.
Decision made the spider leaps forward, toward the man's head. It clears five feet in a moment, never touching the ground, before landing on the Tiger's side. As the beast's flanks twitch, and it wakes, roaring, the spider snatches the red felted hat from the man's head and flees towards the forest. As it skitters under a fallen branch one of it's ribbons catches, and pulls free. Quick as asparagus it leaps back into a mirror, vanishing from the Marches.
Behind it the Curious Captain and the Tiger search. The Captain finds the ribbon. "Fufhh?" They call out. Soon they find the mirror the spider leapt into, in it's frame is revealed a glimpse of debauchery -- tangled limbs, lace and silks, honey-sticky fingers. "She must have just come through here. But A________ would never be at the Parlour of Virtue. She is far too respectable, it's not even.... Perhaps . . ..." The Captain is clearly worried. Nightmare scenarios play out in their mind. "Perhaps I should return. To be sure she's safe...
The Tiger growls. "Still? We're almost halfway to the Mountains, we should reach the Misermere tomorrow, maybe today. But we won't if you can't stop thinking of London, or her. You know it slows our travels, the City mires your mind in the truths of reality. And you know she doesn't need your help, she's quite capable of dealing with anything on her own -- even a trip to the Parlour of Virtue.
The Captain sighs, frustrated and worried, but yields the point.
* * *
Near a mirror on a dressing table a young woman tries not to fret. Her companion has been gone for a long while, perhaps too long. Joy lights her face up -- like the sun rising with a new dawn -- when the perfectly coiffed sorrow-spider returns from the mirror. It chitters excitedly up at her: Eyes, with Correspondence, and madness! Two of it's legs offer her the red cap from the Captain's head. "You found him," the woman exclaims, "thank you Fluffykins, I hope it wasn't too hard.
But the cap in her hands fades in the light of wakefulness, as all dreams do, turning to smoke then vanishing entirely -- leaving only the scent of friend, and even that but for a moment.
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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4/21/2016
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Underneath a cold, blue, moon the Curious Captain scribbles away in a notebook. They glance up at the moon, noting how the shadows on it seem to be in the shape of a cat -- curled up and asleep. "Fitting," they comment to themselves under their breath. As the moon sets they finish up.
The Tiger wakes when the sun rises. As the forest fills with shadows and dappled spots of cosmogone sunlight the Tiger gets up and stretches. Tail up, forelegs out as far as they can go, the Tiger even yawns. "Well, barring some unexpected interruptions a fine night. And now I'm hungry.
"One moment, we can go hunting soon." the Captain interjects. "I need to find a particular mirror, they wave the letter about, oh, and do something about my hat." The Captain fiddles for a bit in their backpack, "Did you know that amongst the properties of numbers here is a particular maxim stating that one plus one equals one?" The Tiger looks skeptical, "No, honestly, it's a dream after all. It doesn't have to make sense.
The Captain demonstrates, "Behold. I am without my hat." They gesture to their closely-shaven scalp. "However, it is better stated that I have Zero hats." They pause, dramatically, " . . . and as we know Zero is One Minus One. And since One Plus One Equals One, that means that Zero Equals One Minus One Plus One!" There is a soundless crack of thunder, and a ripple seems to spread out from the Captain, racing through the jungle. In their hand, previously empty, is now a red pirate hat, the felt crushed down so far that it more resembles a beret than a pirate's hat.
"That is so Is Not," the Tiger says disapprovingly. The Captain doesn't dispute the point, but claims to be glad of the cover from the Sun nonetheless. Together the two find the mirror, where the Captain pushes a rolled up pair of pages -- tied with a single white hair from their forelock -- through the mirror. It drops to the table-top, and rolls off it, out of sight.
The Captain desperately tries to see what happened to it, but in the end the Tiger convinces them to move on.
--------------------------------
On the floor, under the corner of a bed, near a dressing table with a mirror on it, a letter waits in hope of being found.
"My Dear Friend, I believe Fuffh did manage to find me, and steal my cap, at least if the gold-trimmed ribbon that the thief lost does not lie. I hope she returned to you safely.
"I do recall your dream of the Garden, and bees. I have recently begun to believe the bees might be the Devils, driven from Parabola by my people -- well, the cats, but you know of what I meant. I have wondered for some time if the person your acquaintance saw killed, that had a bee climb out of them, was in fact a Devil. No matter. Perhaps your dream is one of foundings, of how all things started. I can not but feel that Parabola predates Stone, however I could easily be mistaken, I must admit it is nothing but intuition. Yet I am almost certain of it.
"I am terribly happy to hear Mr. G__ has proven a charming companion. I had hopes that perhaps he should be, simply based on his position in society, it is gratifying to be correct. (we all must bow to our desire to be "right" ever now and then, forgive me if I preen) How is he at chess, an sufficiently skilled opponent to test you better than I? Have you undertaken to contact K_______x, or any others? I find a dance is more enjoyable when there are enough partners to go around -- though I swear the next time that octogenarian Mr. M_____ allows his hand to slip too far down my back again . . . . well, best left unsaid.
"I have discovered that Correspondence here is quite different. So far I have learned Secrets of Lignefaction and Petrification and the Properties of Numbers. I fear nothing of them is useful save here in Parabola, but I have found there are indeed practical applications. You should find it most intriguing I think. I wish I had your quick mind, or your presence with me, I'm sure there are things -- important things -- about them I am missing.
"Your dream of Storm sounds . . . delicious. You must tell me of it in detail when I return. Do you think it can rival Bell and Candle? Someday I shall find something to pay the Topsy King with and convince him to perform it for me, you should come, you've said he's an excellent composer if I recall rightly, yes?
"I should write quite happily for hours more, but I run out of paper, Dawon wishes to press on, and rightly so. I think we should reach the Misermere tomorrow, perhaps today if things go particularly well. Be well dear heart, in all things be well. -A
{edited for typing, it had to be typing, or snakes. </Indiana Jones>}
edited by absimiliard on 4/21/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/22/2016
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Underneath a red sky lit by cosmogone sunlight the Curious Captain and A Tiger lurk in the bushes. The Tiger whispers -- as best as a tiger can -- "I knew following the music was mistake, now just look where we are.
In front of the two is a clearing, filled with music inexplicably playing without a source. In the clearing a woman dances. She is dressed like a gypsy from the Surface, or one of the many mediums in the Shroud -- a society of spiritualists. The woman turns, and looking into a mirror preens. For a brief moment, then another, there is a shimmering movement in her hair, and at her neck, as if she was wrapped in nearly-invisible snakes. "B____y Fingerkings," the Tiger snarls -- thankfully the woman does not hear, lost in her own music.
"We have to do something," the Captain says. "We can't leave her possessed. Imagine the trouble It will get up to with her body, with her clients. It could end in control of an entire Snake Cult.
"Agreed," the tiger rumbles, "If we move fast, and both attack, we should be able to take her down. If we're quick enough she'll be dead before the Fingerking can react." The Captain's face clearly disapproves.
"I am not killing her. She is Not my Prey." The Captain, temporizes, "Killing her won't hurt the Fingerking either, just inconvenience It. I have a better idea.
The Tiger's tail thrashes, deeply skeptical of any of the Captain's 'better ideas'. When the Captain pulls out a small, jeweled, box the Tiger actually objects, "Oh no. That's insane. You can't do that, you don't even know what will happen to you, I might not even be real any more, now that I followed you through that mirror at Mrs. Plenty's.
"Only one way to learn Dawon," the Captain jokes in the face of imminent disaster -- typical. Rising up from behind a brush-covered rock the Captain points with one hand towards the medium. The medium, finally noticing an intruder, stops preening and turns towards the Captain snarling, "You should never have returned here Absimiliard," the Captain's already pale complexioned face blanches, blood leaving lips white, as they realize the Fingerking knows them, "When you ruined July you should have fled the Marches, and never come back!" Suddenly snakes appear in her hair, on her shoulders, wrapped around her limbs like climbing lianas. They fall, and multiply as they do -- a roiling boil of serpents slithers across the glade towards the human and tiger.
"The Oorts!" Dawon snarls, leaping out from the bush, ready to fight and die.
The Captain bellows one word, loud enough to be heard for quite a distance -- even over the sounds of battle or storm -- "GRENADE!" The Tiger ducks back behind the rock as the Captain flings a small box across the clearing. It crashes to the ground near the medium's feet, the snakes rear up, some try to flee, but they fail to escape the box shattering, and opening.....
Under a blood-red sky, in a land that Is Not, there is a blaze of Sunlight -- Law, brought to Lawless Land. Judgement rendered, only one creature is found innocent.
* * *
In Fallen London a grim-face knot of mediums creeps into a boathouse expecting the worst. One of their number has fallen, taken in by the Fingerking's lures. It took great effort to locate their lost sister. The leader of the group, Mrs. Poecilia clutches a dagger -- what must be done shall be done, what Is shall be kept safe from what Is Not.
To their great surprise within they do not find a woman possessed by the Fingerkings. Instead they find her collapsed and unconscious near a perfectly black mirror reflecting nothing at all. In time they succeed in waking her, but she recalls little of the Fingerkings beyond a name, the Oorts. It would seem something has saved her from the consequences of her choices -- though perhaps not all of the consequences, the mediums soon discover she no longer reflects in mirrors.
Something has obliterated the woman's reflection, forever.
{edited: for correcting some weak-sauce in the writing, sorry}
edited by absimiliard on 4/23/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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4/29/2016
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Departing the Temple the Curious Captain and the Tiger Dawon stop at a stream before continuing into the jungle. The Captain bends with cupped hands to wash face and hands. Their skin is tanned from the Sun, and more weathered. Lines at the corners of their eyes from laughing are barely visible, but are real. Eyes once green and gold now have cosmogone tints reflecting in their depths.
The Captain drinks from cupped hands, as the Tiger dips its head to lap at the water. "Cool as rain," the Captain comments. "Now, that idea I had, if we're back at the heart of the Marches maybe I can try to get through the mirror and return now." The Tiger shrugs, it is as good an idea as any.
The two find a middling-size mirror, just large enough. It is in a silvered frame, and beyond can be seen a long damasked table with people eating blancmange. "Should make for good dinner conversation," the Captain quips as he gets on hands and knees and crawls into the mirror. He vanishes, the Tiger follows.
Both emerge from a dark, wrought-iron mirror-frame in the form of thorny vines. The Tiger swears as it draws blood emerging. "I thought this was supposed to take us back to London?
"Well, perhaps I've still too much madness in my head. I feel like the mirror helped clear things though, as did the chance to clean up and slake some thirst." The two set off, seeking a new mirror to try. Along the way they find a particular mirror, too small to pass through, but large enough to push a folded up page torn from their book.
---------------------
In Fallen London on a small table in one of the Spires of the Bazaar sits a letter, a folded sheet of torn paper.
"Success! I have escaped the Misermere and stepped foot onto the Hanging Mountains. With that I departed entirely the Mirror Marches.
"Dawon and I have managed to escape the wrath of the Writhing River, and I think we wounded the Oorts seriously -- though it shall surely recover in time. We have managed to return to the Temple, and I am attempting to take the mirrors back to London. If my hopes win out perhaps I shall see you before you read this.
"I am sorry to hear about your Bavaria. But I am gladdened Mr. G__ thought to bring you to hear the violin again, how thoughtful of him. I must have you tell more of these shisha pipes, I do so love the decadent, are they quite delicious? You must write again and tell me of who is playing at the Mandrake now -- and what the recent gossip in Veilgarden says. I find I am missing news of London.
"I am glad you were not present for the confrontation with the Oorts and the River, but I think the beauty here would suit you. I think the sunshine should suit your hair most spectacularly, certainly must better than it does my white lock.
"Be safe and well in all things.
{edit: oh words, I hate you so}
edited by absimiliard on 4/29/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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Posts: 759
4/29/2016
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A Tiger climbs out of a mirror frame reflecting a church's nave, filled with parishioners at prayer. Were it to emerge into the church this should be shocking event. As it instead emerges into the Mirror Marches it is not only common, it is unnoticed. Following the Tiger a Curious Captain crawls through as well. Looking behind themselves they comment, "St. Fiacre's. I see Deacon R______ is still holding the morning prayer service.
The two friends set out into the mirror-strewn forest around them. The Tiger changes the topic, "Do you think there's still a market for another Patriotic Adventure? That first one you wrote, as much a piece of tripe as it was, sold most excellently well. Perhaps you could make another round of profits off a new one, a retelling of this.
The Captain considers the Tiger's words. "You may have a point. Tales of exploration are quite popular at this time. We even get a fine duel with swords, and a sock to Johnny Foreigner right in the nose to boot!" The Captain considers again there confrontation with the Ophidian Gentleman. "Though I could wish I knew how to kill him, it was at least a very satisfying ending.
The Tiger's laugh fills the forest, birds scatter from cover breaking for the canopy's safety. "That was So very, very, satisfying, indeed.
The Captain's face shifts, a frown gathering to furrow their brow. "But I don't think it should work. All the best stories, even the terrible ones that sell well, include a good romance. There's no Foreign Princess to be won, no savage wild-woman of the forest to be tamed, not even a nobly steadfast wife waiting at home to worry.
"No," the Captain pronounces, "I fear without a good love story our sales would be terrible. Do you think it would ruin the story if I created some sort of captive to rescue, or a wild-woman to romance?
The Tiger shakes his head at the dimness of a certain species of tail-less monkey, really more hairless apes. "No. I think it won't feel true if you invent something. You based your previous work almost entirely off the things you remembered from your time as Captain Warwick's cabin-boy. Constance says you write best only the things you know from having done them.
The Captain shrugs. "Then I fear I suspect it shan't sell well at all then. It's lacking, the love-story.
"It's always about love, isn't it," the Tiger comments. The two set off.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
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4/29/2016
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[OOC: Of all the opportunity cards this is the only one where I have had to really change how the story goes. There's just no way, Z E R O chances in fact, that there will ever be a polite and congenial conversation between Absimiliard and a Snake, particularly not about the Fingerkings....]
A Curious Captain crawls forth from a silver mirror-frame showing a scene of decadence. Following soon after a Tiger clambers out of it as well, "That was a bit too tight of a fit," the cat notes some fur caught on the mirror's frame. The two set off into the steaming hot jungle side by side.
Reaching up for purchase the Captain pulls himself up a small rise in the jungle's floor. Under his grip the vine he was reaching for twists, and a snake's head emerges from the leaves, "Excuse me," it hisses. "You!" Coils of scaly flesh drop from the tree above revealing the true size of the snake, it is monstrously huge and possesses two heads, one at each end.
With a roar the Tiger leaps, slamming it with massively strong paws. The Captain claws at, but his fingernails -- sharpened even as they are -- can not pierce the tough scales. The snake winds around the Captain's legs, pinioning him, and then winding upwards coiling around him. Desperately the Captain manages to keep his arms free, even as his chest is engulfed within a snaky prison. The Tiger fares little better. Claws cannot pierce the snake's hide, and though several bites prove fangs work they do not inflict vital damage.
"Yessss," the snake's heads both hiss, one at each opponent. "Once I've eaten you I'll be much, Much stronger." The Captain groans in pain as the coils around it tighten, and with an audible cracking noise two ribs give way. "Maybe I'll be ssstrong enough to lead my own boil even." The snake gloats as it begins to stretch a jaw wide enough to engulf the Tiger.
Suddenly a large spotted cat bursts from the underbrush. The Calico Countess leaps upon the snake prisoning the Tiger and setting fangs to the back of it's neck bites down with a loud crunch. The other head screams in agony as one end of it's spine shatters under the jaguar's teeth, and half it's body goes limp -- releasing the Tiger. Together the two great cats make short work of the other half of the snake, soon releasing the Captain.
"Many thanks your Excellency," the Captain says through painful breaths. "I must say, given the Viscountess's feelings about me you are quite literally the second to last cat I should have expected to save my life.
The Calico Countess's tail shrugs dismissively. "My Lady's feelings towards you remain mostly unaltered. She will not send troops here to protect you, and she still resents your decision." The Countess pauses, to chew at a bit of nothingness stuck in a fore-paw. "However, she greatly appreciates that you have brought the war she has been working on to fruition. The Snakes are un-ready, we shall surely conquer new dreams this war, and the Countess hopes to gain new lands for her followers. So she sent me to you with a warning.
The Captain and Tiger both look puzzled. "A warning?," the Captain asks.
The Calico Countess returns, "Indeed. Though the war as a whole goes well the Writhing River has caught your scent, even here, in the depths of the Marches. It has abandoned the other Fingerkings to our tender mercies, and now comes straight on at you. There are not enough dreams in existence to hold it back when it advances in a single terrifying river instead of spreading itself across a broad front.
The Tiger growls, low and rough, "Then it shall be here soon. We have no time to dawdle, you need to find a mirror you can pass through to return to London.
"Before the Writhing River finds us," the Captain adds.
{edited: for formatting}
edited by absimiliard on 4/29/2016
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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4/29/2016
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Three figures race through a darkened jungle. Though two are cats and one human, all three pairs of eyes glow similarly in the dim light. The Tiger and the Jaguar move with the expected cat-like speed. The human moves impossibly fast, compressing space in front of themselves and expanding it behind in a display of the PROPERTIES OF NUMBERS relating to distance that blurs the air, and ripples outwards. In the distance, behind them, can be discerned a hissing roar, growing louder over time. The three come to a large stream, or perhaps a shallow river, and stop.
The Calico Countess speaks, "It's gaining on us, we shan't be able to avoid it for much longer. Can you return to London yet?
The Curious Captain tests their hand against a mirror's surface, "No, it's still too thick. The River is going to catch us. Unless .. . " the Captain pauses in thought.
The Tiger contributes, "What if we deceived it? If we split up it will be forced to follow only one us. The River knows that if it spreads out to too many tributaries the Temple can push it away faster than it can advance." The other two consider the idea, and both nod.
"Quick then, strip down and tie your clothes into a bundle," the Countess directs, "I'll take it in mouth and flee into the jungle. You two can swim downstream and lose the River, the water should cover your scents.
The Captain shakes his head, "No, enough with the nakedness. I am not returning to London a raving, NAKED, madman. I have a better idea." The Tiger groans, it is well familiar with its friend's 'better ideas'. "Hush up Dawon," the Captain counters. He then pulls a tiny locket, from their pocket, inside is not the standard portrait, but instead a single lock of golden hair, and behind it a mirrored-backing. The Captain tucks the lock of hair away between pages in their book and holds out the locket, "Watch and dislike, I'm not sure I like it much myself.
The Captain angles the mirror towards themself. Wincing briefly the Captain spears one of their fingers with a claw, and pressing on the fingertip causes blood to well up. A drop of blood grows, then hangs -- quivering -- at their fingertip before dropping onto the mirror. The blood hangs in the surface of the mirror, half in and half out, and starts to sizzle and burn. Suddenly there are two Curious Captains, each holding a mirror, each mirror reflecting the other, each drop of blood still sizzling away merrily.
Both cats hiss. The Tiger growls. Both Captain's back away, hands up, "Hold on," the first says, "I'm still mostly Is," the second finishes.
"You're not," the Countess counters. "This stinks of Is Not, and you condemn the Viscountess for corruption. Which of you is even the real you?
Both Captains shrug, "I think," the first starts, "we both are," both finish in unison. The first raises a hand, "I shall go with the Countess, we can't outrun the river, but we can surely delay it." The second jumps in, "I'll go with Dawon. We can swim downstream and lose the River for a time, hopefully enough time.
The Tiger questions, "What happens when the blood burns away?
"I'm fairly sure I'll unify near you," the Captain offers. "We're far more closely linked than the Countess and I are. But it should be interesting to discover should it not?
Two pairs of figures split up in the jungle. A cat and a Captain race away upstream together. A cat and a Captain wade into the water and begin to swim downstream.
Minutes later a raging river of vipers cascades into the clearing near the stream. It heads upstream in moments.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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4/29/2016
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The Tiger roars as it races through the jungle. Stealth no longer matters. The Countess bought them a night of safety, but now the Writhing River has their scent again and is in hot pursuit. "You're still too unreal, we can't use the mirrors.
Besides the Tiger the Captain runs. His white morning suit is now torn in places, and stained green from the jungle's touch. Mud from the stream's edge still coats his boots and trousers. "Then we run!" Putting words to action the Captain pours on speed, then leaps. He lands and leaps again, this time further. A third bound covers over twenty feet, the Captain flails his arms madly, trying to keep his balance. Finally he hits his stride and the Curious Captain bounds across the jungle branches.
Below him the Tiger pours on speed in the only way that actually Is, instead of some trick of dreams. Lungs blowing rhythmically, the Tiger's limbs blur as he races to keep up with the Captain. "B____y cheater! None of that's real! And I'll tire in time.
"So will I Dawon," the Captain calls down as he leaps to another branch. "But we can't slow, it's still tracking us, we need to put distance between us, even in this dream." The Tiger can't disagree with that, but wishes that cats like himself were built for endurance instead of sprinting.
Behind them the question is made moot as a flood of serpents flows into a gap in the forest. Spotting the two fleeing figures the snakes rise up, roaring, and surge forward. Fortunately the ophidian pressure is low this far from it's headwaters and the Writhing River advances no faster than it's snakes can travel.
"Well that settles it." The Captain drops down to the ground besides the Tiger. "We can't make it to London, but we'll have to use the mirrors now anyway.
The Tiger pants as it runs, "That one!" It breaks right and dives between two bushes, the Captain follows. Behind the two a river of snakes slithers over the ground like slowly rising floodwaters.
The Curious Captain and the Tiger stop before a large mahogany mirror frame leaning up against the bole of a tree. In it can be seen a clock. As it ticks the Captain's heartbeat falters, and falls into beat with it. The Tiger startles and snarls, leaping backwards as they feel the same thing. On the clock's face the hands are made of finger-bones. "No time, no choice," the Captain says as he crawls through the mirror.
Less trusting, but just as trapped by the River the Tiger follows.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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4/29/2016
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For ten days the Writhing River and the Temple wrestle. Ten times a Sun that Is Not rises up into the sky shedding cosmogone light on the conflict below. Ten times it sets, dropping the jungle below into darkness lit only by stars. The Writhing River is implacable, not once does it give up or cease it's struggle. But the Temple is ancient beyond words, and Fate is its currency, a coin it spends profligately to buy two figures time.
For ten days the Curious Captain and the Tiger flee. They race from mirror to mirror, leaping between dreams in attempts to escape the River. Birds of Paradise lead them down secret paths. Many cats come each day, to buy time and distance in battle, time spent in exhausted snatches of sleep. Only cherries plucked from trees sustain the Captain, the Tiger grows lean and tight with hunger. Always, as they come closer to reality, exhaustion mounts and wounds re-appear.
In the end the race comes down to mere moments. Bursting forth from a rotted wooden mirror frame the Captain pushes himself towards a vicious wrought-iron mirror-frame studded with sharp thorns. The Captain is far beyond cursing and limping and agony fills every desperate step they manage. Behind them the Tiger crawls out from the frame, he too is wounded and a forepaw cannot support his weight -- but he does better than the Captain. Limping across the space towards the next mirror the pair look back to see snakes follow them out of the last mirror and begin winding their ways towards them.
"One last," the Captain gasps, "if we can make it." Pulling himself to his feet the Curious Captain staggers the last of the distance to the mirror. He have no time to look in and see what lies beyond, the River is almost there. Along with the Tiger he pushes into the mirror frame.
One last time the Temple acts, pulling Fate to match it's will.
* * *
At a table at Dante's a Glassman waits on a companion to join them. Across from them they watch the large mirror set on the wall with concern. In it's depths the image of the dining room flickers, viric light glows in it's depths. Suddenly the image of London washes entirely away to reveal a man and a tiger stumbling towards the mirror. The Writhing River pursues them, so close that venom from it's leading waves singes the man's heels.
Mostly starved, and terribly wounded, the Curious Captain and the Tiger stagger from the mirror into the main dining room at Dante's. He has changed from when he last departed London -- his skin is now tanned and weathered, and his eyes show green with flecks of cosmogone in their depths. He collapses and falls into unconsciousness. A flask of Mrs. Gebrandt's finest experimental tincture -- from her personal collection -- rolls from the Captain's hand.
"Quickly," the Tiger says, "Cover the mirror, the River . . . " Behind it the Writhing River rages and tries to pass through the mirror. But it Is Not, and as each snake passes through the mirror it burns away into a smell of rot and green growing things.
P_______ V_____ considers the situation. Once upon a time the Captain made her promise them something, that if ever they returned possessed by the Fingerkings she would deal with them.
The time has come to see what to make of the promise now.
edited by absimiliard on 4/29/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/29/2016
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First, I'd like to thank any and all of you foolish enough to read on through all of this. My apologies if in my ignorance I have mangled Lore that I have not yet encountered -- I have tried to tell the story as it played out as best I can, while adding some sense of the dramatic. (and, admittedly, stealing ruthlessly from some past stories in the Marches)
Second, and last, let this be a lesson to everyone:
Try not to fail your profession check to become a Glassman, the price might be higher you anticipated.
{edit: And pray forgive the rather profligate expenditure of Fate I needed in order to return before Wednesday. I really wanted to play my current favorite game, instead of just being trapped in the Marches.}
edited by absimiliard on 4/29/2016
edited by absimiliard on 4/30/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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Professor Strix
Posts: 616
4/30/2016
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It was a good tale of exploration, and I liked the dream-like feel. It was fun. ^^
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The Inescapable Professor, London's Most Academic Detective. Open to consultation from Mondays to Fridays, above the Silver Binding bookshop, Veilgarden. Half the payment in advance, half after closing the case. No refunds.
"THIS SATURDAY, in MAHOGANY HALL, delight your eyes with the DARING FEATS of the DAPPER ESCAPIST. Gape at his CHARM and WIT and his CLEVER TRICKS OF ILLUSIONISM. No mirrors used."
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Social actions welcomed. Will take menaces if not currently grinding that one stat. Send them and cross your fingers.
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Professor%20Strix
My alt loiters suspiciously if you want to:
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Derek%20Davis
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/28/2016
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Descending to a river from a ridge the Curious Captain and a Tiger meet three cats; one spotted, one dark, and one golden. The Captain is dressed in a fine, white, morning suit with a golden apple pin on his lapel, the Tiger and the cats wear fur.
"Well met," says the Lion in greeting. The Jaguar counters, "This is no friend of ours." A Black Panther emphasizes things to the Lion, "The Arbiter here is the one who ruled against her Excellency, and cost her the Misermere.
"I ruled for the good of the cats as a whole," the Captain counters. "though the Prince-Bishop is not without multitudinous flaws the Snakes influence concerns me.
The Lion counters, "You misjudged her Arbiter. A taste for intoxication does not imply corruption, and being ambassador requires cooperation.
"Then let her relinquish the position and hold lands as all Marcher Lords do," the Captain pronounces. "But no matter, the case is done, and I no longer hold the Court's commission. The ruling was made, and now Is." The Tiger comments, "We are not here for that anyway, just to reach the Mountains.
The Black Panther laughs, "Then you'll have to taste the poison as well. There's no crossing the River without swimming it, it is deep here, and broad." The three cats pass by the Captain and the Tiger and continue up towards the ridge, and the Misermere.
The Captain and the Tiger continue down. In time they come to the banks of the Writhing River, mists roll downwards from the waterfall upstream filling the air with the intoxicating scent of flowers. "This is a bad idea Dawon," the Captain comments.
The Tiger doesn't contradict the Captain, quite, "But there's no way across it otherwise." The River is indeed broad, too broad to leap. "At least it won't notice us, we're not at it's head, or tail. Here it will be like swimming, sort of.
The Captain eyes the River with horror. It consists not of water, but of snakes flowing over each other in such multitudes that they fill the riverbed to overflowing. Close up the hissing of the Writhing River is unmistakable, and grows quite loud -- like a regiment of Devils as they charge. The snakes in the River do not seem to notice the Captain or the Tiger. With a look of extreme disgust the Captain wades in, followed by the Tiger. Poison clouds their minds, intoxicating dreams obscure sight, reason flees.
Crawling forth from the Writhing River the Captain collapses on the mountainside falling away upwards. The Tiger shakes their head, trying to clear it. "At last," the Captain croaks, throat raw from breathing poison fumes, "the Hanging Mountains -- Parabola!
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
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4/28/2016
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Out in the far reaches of Dreams there lies a place -- distant, hard to reach -- that no human ought reach save as fleeting fragments of a night's slumber soon forgotten in the light of day. In that place the impossible happens, routinely. Rivers of snakes, mountains hanging from the sky meeting hills rising up from a lake, a Sun of a color not seen outside the Neath, red-orange skies -- all these conspire to send a message to the mind of any person who should arrive "This is no place for you, you should never have come.
In the skies of that place a murder of crows flies, no, wait, a parliament of ravens. As it draws closer even that assessment is questionable. The ravens, black-featherd to a one, have necks too long, heads too bare of feathers, something .. . . snaky to them, like a cockatrice. Flocking down from the sky towards the Writhing River of snakes below the ravens scream in unison at a human on the river's banks, a Tiger at their side, "Now you have come too far! Here, in our homes, you will fall!
A Curious Captain hears the screams and, looking up, blanches, "The Oorts!". Struggling to clear his head of the poisons twisting his senses he staggers to his feet. At his side a Tiger shakes it head, even the Tiger was not immune to the venomous mists of the river. The two could barely be less prepared for a fight -- the Captain literally sways on his feet.
The ravens attack. Claws tear at a fine linen suit. Beaks tear at a Tiger. Some of the ravens cackle and taunt, "Delicious... Delicious! You will feed us well, and our young!" In moments the Captain and the Tiger are consumed in a boil of attacking snaky birds. Suddenly noticing the Captain pulling something from his pack the birds scream, and scatter. They flee from the two as fast as wing can bear them.
"You thought I only brought One?," the Captain grimaces in pain -- his throat has been burned raw by poisonous mists. He hold in his hands a small jeweled box stamped with a yellow sun. "Enough," the Captain croaks. His lips pull back, exposing teeth, in his sneer is revealed nothing but a Predator, ready to pounce and bite. He hisses -- mouth open -- like an enraged cat at the fleeing birds. Lifting the box high .. . . he opens it. Again Sunlight is unleashed in Parabola, but now much deeper, closer to it's heart.
The Tiger basks in the warmth of true Sunlight -- it Is, there is nothing to fear. The Oorts fare less well, they are Is Not. One by one as the light catches up to them -- each in turn -- they flare into blazing viric fire and shrieking in agony their flesh evanesces and burns away to nothingness. The Writhing River does not escape unscathed either, it is the largest of the Fingerkings -- a boil of snakes so great that it can not be contained -- and Is Not more so than any other present. It is no match for Sunlight and ophidian bodies burn at it's touch, both far up and down it the River vanishes into viric-colored flames. The Judgement is rendered fully on one more being, unshielded by any cover this time the Captain Is Not, and is returned to what Is, nearly in full. Only Salt's Curse holds the Captain together at all, saving the core amalgam from destruction even as the surface burns away.
A rough humanoid figure made of snow and ice streaked with blood collapses to the ground, unconscious.
{edited: for words, bad words, naughty words, there shall be a spanking.}
edited by absimiliard on 4/28/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
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4/28/2016
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In the heart of the Mirror Marches, at the point closest to London -- the point from which all things can be watched -- the Temple slumbers. When it was young it was powerful, even now it is potent. Congeries of dreams fill the space around it; some happy, some sad, love, hate, all and yet all nothing. Around it float the dreams of the Mirror Marches, farther the lands of the Fingerkings.
In its slumbers the Temple shifts, begins to rise towards waking. It sees the Writhing River push into the dreams of the Misermere, coming closer. The Temple is no longer strong enough destroy the River, but it can hold it off, like a castle's walls, for a time. As the River advances into the newest dream others float in between it and the Temple, expanding space -- and thus time as well.
In dreams the cats gather. The cats come each night, perhaps day, even each catnap, and will return again and again no matter what happens to them. The Fingerkings have not prepared well for this war, the River has called them to battle too soon. They have invaded with nowhere near the forces needed for safety, and certainly not enough to hold what they momentarily can seize. Dreams of cats mass for killing. The Temple, now waking, pushes those dreams far into the depths of Parabola. Even in their nests the Snakes shall not be safe.
The price is high. For each dream the Temple pushes away, or fills in before the advancing Fingerkings, the distance between it's borders and most of Parabola draw in. The touch of reality can only spread so far in here, more precisely to the borders of the Mirror Marches. Beyond lies only Dreams -- the infinite realms of the Fingerkings.
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In the darkened depths of the Temple two pairs of eyes glow in the dim light, as cat's eyes do. One pair, gold, blinks, the other, green flecked with cosmogone, does not. "At least you're healing faster," a deep voice rumbles.
"Fair," responds a throaty contralto, or perhaps a rough tenor. "I'm almost all returned to normal. Well, as normal as tanned skin and eyes that see in the dark can be said to be for me. There's still a cold in me though, deep. My heart is still nothing more than ice and snow.
The deep voice growls, unwisely choosing to finally get involved in things, "Ridiculous. You've made a name for yourself with your carousing. You are, notoriously, quite as bad as any alley cat. Frankly, you make even my affairs look paltry, and as I'm really quite the handsomest tiger working in the Labyrinth that says something.
The contralto laughs, bitterly, sadly. "You know nothing of nothing. None of them have ever held me long. None have ever warmed my heart. Certainly there's passion, and obsession, and fascination. But none of those are love.
The voice continues, "Love should be so much more. Love is supposed to be kindnesses, despite differences, both big and small. It ought mean knowing someone so well they need not speak -- considering them in all things, and compromising. Love is a willingness to give yourself for them. Love means sharing the torments and pain of life, and passing through them together. It is joys, and sorrows. It's also terribly dangerous . . . so I hear.
"No. I've never felt that for any of them. Not even once." The voice pauses, and sniffles. The eyes close briefly as a hand wipes at their corners.
"It's probably for the best -- that I've a heart of ice and snow. I guess.
This time, far more wisely, the Tiger says nothing.
{edit: for the usual, the un-noticed, but flawed, words}
edited by absimiliard on 4/28/2016
edited by absimiliard on 4/29/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
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4/29/2016
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In the Mirror Marches a Sun that Is Not looks down on an empty mirror frame. For a moment a vision of a smoky tent appears. A figure sits in a corner, rustling gently. They hand a lump of something golden to someone else. The vision vanishes and a Curious Captain leaps out of the mirror frame, followed by a Tiger. The Tiger bounds away, and the Captain takes to his heels in pursuit. Behind them a feeling of pressure grows in the air surrounding the mirror. Suddenly a jet of serpents sprays out from the mirror, filling the ground in front of it with a pool of vipers that rapidly form a stream racing after the Captain and the Tiger. The spray of snakes from the mirror does not let up.
The Temple wakes fully. The Writhing River is too close now, it has been drawn entirely away from it's forces, but it cannot be fended off from its prey with dreams any more. The Temple gathers its strength.
The Captain races through the woods, searching for a mirror-frame large enough, but none can be found. The Tiger runs at his side, ready to spin and fight when -- not if -- they are finally caught.
The Temple acts. Time and space twist as Fate is changed.
Rounding a corner the Captain cheers. "That one Dawon!" They point, not twenty feet away a large mirror, in it an incense filled space lit with candles -- where secrets are exchanged. The Tiger puts on a burst of speed as it sees the Captain leap into the mirror and vanish -- it soon follows. Seconds behind them a flood of serpents begins rising, pushing against the mirror-frame. As the frame is buried in writhing coils of flesh the pressure becomes too great and the Writhing River bursts through it.
The River erupts in a gout from a mirror. It smells the tracks of the Captain and the Tiger, leading to a new mirror. It follows.
In a distant glade, in another dream entirely the Captain runs towards a new mirror.
The Race is on!
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/23/2016
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Agonizingly, desperately, the Curious Captain pulls themselves to their feet. With the night's passage most of them has become flesh once more, only some of their chest remains blood-stained snow. Where flesh has returned it has returned changed -- now burnished to deeply-tanned bronze by the Sunlight. The Tiger slowly rises to follow their friend.
Terribly slowly, excruciatingly, the two climb up from dark coolness into the sweltering heat of the temple. Long ago there was Harmony and Order here, now there are stone-colored ancient trees growing up amidst ruined walls.
The pair stop, unable to proceed in what was once a walled garden. The Captain collapses, back against a wall, "We'll never make it past the lilies and the trees like this." The Tiger nods, and whimpers as a leg protests action. Above them the sunlight shines shines through a tiny round window into the vegetation beyond. As the Tiger and the Captain collapse into pain-filled sleep the sunlight focuses and a small fire begins to crackle and smoke.
In time the forest outside the garden walls burns. The forest fire rages out from the temple, scorching the land as the dream the friends are in dissolved into another dream. In the garden perfumed smoke drifts -- intoxicating. As the fire burns away the last of its meal, and begins to sleep itself, the Tiger wakes. As it rises, and wakes the Captain, they discover that sleep or the perfumed smoke has healed them . . . somewhat.
Still limping, the Captain swearing, they set out from the Temple into the a new jungle. "Time to find that mirror again," the Captain notes. "I'd like to try to send this letter -- if I have the strength -- before we attempt the lilies." As they search a last, plaintive, comment from the Captain, "Do you think she will forget me? What with her new love, Mr. G__? I could not bear to lose her.
The Tiger shakes its massive head, but is far too wise to reply, perhaps its great-grandmother Constance is wrong about 'all muscles, no brains -- if you like that sort of thing,' after all.
* * *
On a small, damasked, table, a letter from dreams, on the back of it in the corner of the paper, a small brown smear -- dried blood.
"I wish I had better news, but the past seven days have been difficult. The journey has been long, and is now grown terribly hard. Dawon and I must attempt to pass the Lilies of Gold, and their allies the Trees, but I fear our wounds may already be too great. Rest tonight should recover us enough to continue, I hope. They are the last thing between us and the Misermere.
Yesterday we found, and engaged in battle, the Oorts, one of the Fingerkings. We prevailed, and have wounded it and driven it off. I believe we saved the woman it was possessing, I wish so at least. I hope the costs shall not be proven too high. Dawon is limping and cursing, but he shall recover.
If we can not pass the Lilies I fear I may have to turn back. All the effort I went to in obtaining the finest of Mrs. Gebrandt's nostrums has proved an ill investment. Here her bottles are nothing more than images, memories, and the one I tried did nothing to cure my wounds. I fear our progress has now slowed such that I question if we can succeed in reaching the Hanging Mountains. We shall persevere. I should not like anyone, even if just my dearest friend, to think me inconstant in achieving my goals.
I should have preferred to keep much of this from you until my return, I recall how you worried about Mr. Black, but you asked me for truth. I hope I have not chosen poorly. Please try not to worry, if not for your sake then for Mr. G__, let him see your smile -- it lights your face up so, like a new day's dawn illuminating the world -- something I now know of. A grand benefit of coming here, I have, at last, seen the Sun, well, A Sun.
Your dreams of Serpents and rotting flowers worry me. It sounds as if even without mirrors you are terribly close to the Marches. I have heard it said that the eyes of a Correspondent are like mirrors, or maybe it was that Correspondence written on eyes turned them to mirrors ... . blast, I can not recall it. Perhaps you can recall the reference, you are ever the more clever of the two of us, but I wonder if perhaps your eyes are the mirrors linking you to the Marches. Your dreams are terribly strong, I barely dream at all in comparison. Something to discuss on our reunion.
Much as that new dress of yours, I must see it. I'm not so certain of tiaras, but they would suit your hair so much more than mine that I should consider my judgement on them to be, shall we say, 'less than infallible'.
I am pleased to hear of your progress in the Labyrinth. I was certain my recommendation to the Keeper would be justified in time. I can not deny that some of the prisoners are unjustly imprisoned, but it is so difficult to tell who was just guilty of offending the Duchess by hunting cats for secrets -- just an example -- from those who hunted them to kill them, because they were possessed. I have come to trust the judgement of Mr. Inch and the Keeper in these things.
Your most recent letter intrigues me -- a knife that is both blade and mirror. I think I could desperately use such a thing here. I must look into obtaining one somehow when I return.
Be well in all things dear heart. I shall write again when next I can.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/27/2016
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A Curious Captain labors, breathing heavily as they pull theirself up a forested hill under a cosmogone Sun. Right behind them a Tiger follows, with much more ease. As they progress upwards trees give way to brush, then stone. After a long while the two stop, finally atop the ridge they have been surmounting.
Behind them the hills lead down to the Misermere. The lake shimmers, a deep blue, in it's valley. Cosmogone sunlight flashes whenever the angle of a mirror is just right. Beyond that low hills rise up again, leading to the Mirror Marches proper.
Before them mountains cling to the sky, reaching downwards towards the hills. It is distinctly unnatural. The rocky ground beneath their feet drops away from the Captain and the Tiger, descending down to a river that twists the eye. Looking down the two can see a trio of large cats playing near a waterfall -- two cavort in the water, another lazes on the banks.
Dawon growls disapprovingly, "We should leave them to their own. I do not approve of bathing in the Writhing River. Some find the poisonous mists intoxicating, I find the idea offensive, and I fear the corrupting influence of the poisons.
"Very well," the Captain consents. They've no desire to meet with servants of the Fingerkings. The two begin a descent to river that will lead them away from the trio of possibly corrupted cats. "Do you think that's where the Viscountess went wrong? Too much intoxicating poison?
edited by absimiliard on 4/27/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/23/2016
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In darkness a gentle push. Again.
From a distance, vague, soft, words, ".. . .up . . .. . Abs . . . . wake".
Another push, less gentle.
* * *
Under a blood-red sky, riven by fierce clouds at war, a Tiger tries to wake his friend. The Tiger uses words. He tries grooming the collapsed figure. Gently he puts head down, forehead to their side, and shoves, hard, rolling the body over. That wakes the Captain, they try to sit up, failing the first few times, "I'm alive," they croak. "Did we kill it?
"The Oorts? No," the Tiger responds, "that was no more than a finger of it, though the bit that had it's attention." The Tiger pauses, he knows subtlety isn't his strong suit, 'muscles with no brains' is how the matriarch Constance has always referred to him -- he doesn't mind, what Is Is. "You need to find a mirror, did you bring one?
The Captain bursts out laughing, immediately stopping, and cradling their head in pain. "Oh, ouch. Sorry, but, isn't it obvious I brought a mirror?" They crawl across the clearing to a black, blank, mirror frame. Scattered about are shards of the mirrors that once lined a jeweled box, picking one up the Captain looks at their reflection.
"oh," uncharacteristically meek. "That isn't good. I'm melting." They pull themselves to their feet, leaning against a tree and look again at their reflection.
Revealed is a lumpen imitation of humanity. Rough features remain, formed by fingers -- or claws -- from blood-streaked snow. A once delicate face is now more potato-like than man or woman. An aquiline nose is now a mere evocation of itself, a small ball of snow stuck off-center as an afterthought. Green eyes, flecked with gold, remain, and the small bit of flesh around them that was shielded from the Light by a hand raised up defensively. Arms once long and gracile are now imperfect, misshapen, and different in length.
The Captain pulls up their skirts, checks legs beneath, "Still flesh where the rock shielded me." They pull their bodice away, looking down, "Looks like about half-way down. We need to find some place cold, fast.
The Tiger answers, "Then there's really only one place that will do here." The Captain nods. "We'll lose progress.
The Captain nods again. "Indeed. But there's no choice, if I melt . .. . well, who knows what will happen." They close their eyes, and turn around -- in a third direction -- over-their-shoulder -- and open their eyes. Before them are paths, now more moss than stone. The two friends creep past walls with ruined once-delicate friezes barely visible. In depths beneath the the ruins of the Temple, in catacombs, they find darkness and respite from the heat.
"Time," the Captain thinks aloud, "I think that's what we need. Time and sleep. I don't seem to be melting, and I think the snow is changing back to me again.
The tiger interjects, "Snow? Why snow?
"Oh, for that you can blame Mr. Sacks I'm afraid. I'm no more real than the Fingerkings I guess. He made me, with Captain Warwick's blood, for some reason." The Captain looks a bit confused, "At least I'm fairly sure that was me. Well, a part of me, an important one.
"I guess I always thought you were still the Bold Kitten," the Tiger offers. The Captain counters, "Oh no. I'm sorry Dawon, but she's dead. I'm just what's left of her, mixed with a snowman and made real by Salt -- and all that just to gain vengeance on someone they cursed. I probably wouldn't even have survived the Sunlight if not for Salt's desires. Perhaps one Judgement cannot over-rule another Judgement's direct handiwork? Maybe there's a higher power, to which they must appeal, for such things? Who can say?
The Captain laughs, a sad, tired, bitter, laugh.
"Time, that's what we need.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
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4/25/2016
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"How, exactly, did you change into those clothes?" Dawon queries the Curious Captain. The Captain is now dressed in a fine white morning suit with a golden apple pin at the lapel. Scuffed boots cover their feet, and they currently hold a bowler hat that more properly belongs on their head.
"Exactly?," the Captain says, "well, I'm not 'Exactly' certain. But it was the same way I found the rouge for my lips, or my sword-cane. There's something about things I carry, or wear, often enough. They seem to become part of me, here." The Captain stands, "Watch," they close their eyes and concentrate, and with a shiver the suit morphs away, turning into a battle-worn red dress. "See?" The Captain changes back to the morning suit.
The Tiger yawns, and curls up against the stone walls of the room they are resting in. "Did you find that mirror? Before the poison rain began?
The Captain nods, "Indeed. Though pushing even a single page through is getting harder and harder. I'm not sure how much further we can go from London and still have it work. Hopefully the rains let up soon, this may not be the Monsoon of Poisons, but it is B____y annoying, and it's delaying us." The Captain pauses, in thought, "And if the Ophidian Gentleman wanted to delay war then every day we're delayed here is another day of preparation that he wins from us. I hope the rain lets up soon. If whatever we're doing will start a war it should be better now than later -- since the Snakes desire 'later'.
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On a dressing-table, near a mirror, in Fallen London, a letter:
"Regarding the Bishop, I have nothing to say but 'Bravo!' Have no fear, you know I pay my hazards in any wager. Just consider Sir Thomas's dare if you doubt me. I shall hope yours is less onerous than his.
"I have been thinking -- don't say it. What if your dreams of Storm are from the past? You mention sails in your dream. No one uses sails any more -- not even on the Surface, I think. All shipping is now moving on coal, certainly all London shipping here below does so. Is it possible that you are dreaming of memories?
"You yourself have often been most busy on occasion. I suggest you grant S___ the same generosity others have gifted both you and I. I am sure there is nothing more to concern yourself with. You should not care for someone so dull as to have no pressing commitments after all, should you? I know I have never had interest in dullards, and your taste in men has ever been superior to mine -- just consider my whole affair with the Jewel Thief who ended up in the Tomb Colonies if you require proof. Besides, he dances! How many men dance?
"You mentioned the drownies? Did you get a chance to hear their song again? I should dissuade you from joining them, the Fathomking deserves nothing so good as either of us, but I have long thought your soprano would compliment their song.
"I should so enjoy your company here. The Misermere is beautiful beyond description. Sunlight, on green, growing, things. Water, sweet and fresh, everywhere, and no Salt . . . . water, to be seen. I have never encountered the like, it is Edenic. Perhaps, being from the Surface, these things are familiar and mundane to you, but to me they are . . . it is difficult to put into words. If the journey were not so dangerous I should someday hope to bring you here. I think you should like it.
"I must finish this, a poison rain is beginning to fall -- doubtless the work of the Ophidian Gentleman, whom I very nearly killed yesterday -- next time for sure. Dawon and I shall seek shelter in one of the tombs, hopefully an empty one, and move on towards the Mountains when the rain ceases.
"Your hair glows so in the sunlight, I wish you could join me, you would be magnificent here. There is no way Mr. G__, or anyone else, could resist you -- you would shine so in the Sun, like a golden Goddess. The Neath does no justice to the blonde.
"-A
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/26/2016
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A swollen orange Sun spends the day's last moments looking down from red skies on a Curious Captain and a Tiger. The Captain is is climbing out of a small rivulet leading down to the Misermere, scaling it's banks. The two stop to rest beneath a tree with leaves in the shape of the tree, on each more tiny leaves, again shaped like the tree.
"I wonder how far down this symbolism goes," the Captain says as he examines a fallen leaf. "It is itself, in miniature, and on each of it's miniatures yet more selves, each further reduced in size if not perfection." The Captain's eyes light up with wonder at the repetition.
The Tiger does not possess a speculative nature, rather a generally practicable one -- touched with a dash of resignation at the variegated effects in their life which Fate dictates. As a result, the Tiger does not respond, nor even truly consider the remarkable leaf, but instead starts to chew on a foot, "One moment, need to get this claw casing.
Near them a small round mirror reveals a cupboard, with the crack of an opened door revealing the scene within. In darkness, caresses, the flash of light off a zipper, lips meeting in passion.
"Hopefully we'll reach the Mountains tomorrow." The Tiger yawns and curls up. "It shall be nice to finally find the Pass to the Skies." The Captain sits, and leans back against the Tiger's side, they yawn as well.
A swollen orange Sun sets, day becomes night.
Beneath a fractal tree a man and a tiger sleep.
{edit: because spelling, and -- of course -- typing}
edited by absimiliard on 4/26/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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Professor Strix
Posts: 616
4/19/2016
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Yay, kitty! I mean, Tiger. I mean, kitty.
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The Inescapable Professor, London's Most Academic Detective. Open to consultation from Mondays to Fridays, above the Silver Binding bookshop, Veilgarden. Half the payment in advance, half after closing the case. No refunds.
"THIS SATURDAY, in MAHOGANY HALL, delight your eyes with the DARING FEATS of the DAPPER ESCAPIST. Gape at his CHARM and WIT and his CLEVER TRICKS OF ILLUSIONISM. No mirrors used."
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Social actions welcomed. Will take menaces if not currently grinding that one stat. Send them and cross your fingers.
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Professor%20Strix
My alt loiters suspiciously if you want to:
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Derek%20Davis
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/18/2016
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A silver mirror leans up against a thick tree-trunk. Dappled in cosmogone light it shows a damasked table; set with makeup and jewelry. A tiger leans forward and sniffs, then rumbles, "I don't smell any snakes.
A hand, gauntleted in spider-chitin up beyond the elbow, pushes back fronds and bracken. Fingernails sharpened to claws poke through empty fingertips to catch in greenery briefly. A delicate figure in a red-dress stomps out into the clearing, hob-nailed boots leaving clear footprints in the mossy ground. "I think we lost them for the moment, there aren't many in this part of the Marches any more. It's as safe as we're likely to get.
They tap at the surface of the mirror, then turn to the tiger. "I wish she'd kept it covered, but it's useful enough for us right now. I think it'll work. Keep watch." The tiger prowls the edges of the clearing. The young person pulls a book out from their backpack, and writes quickly in it with a pencil, then tears the page from the book and folds it up. With a look of tremendous concentration they reach towards the mirror, and push the note through the mirror. It falls gently to the table-top beyond, half-opened. Breathing heavily, as if just having run a marathon, the Captain rises to unsteady feet. "That was far harder than I thought." They stagger, and catch themselves on a tree-trunk.
There's a sound, a rustling, as something approaches. The tiger spins, the Captain drops into a crouch -- both ready to fight, or flee.
A rat in a Postal Uniform pushes through the bracken. "Absimiliard," it questions? The Captain nods. "The Elder?" The rat looks suspiciously at the young person, the Captain can't possibly be out of their teens.
"I was the firstborn in my litter, Elder of Five," the Captain explains.
The rat nods, "Well, that explains things. Glad I found you, I hate these jungles. So, here, two letters for you, one from a 'K_______x', and the other from an 'A_______a v____________t'. Sign here please," the rat holds out two letters, a form, and a charcoal pencil.
"You have got to be kidding me," the tiger declaims.
"Oh no Dawon," the Captain says, "you see Messengers are a Very Serious Business indeed.
The Postal Rat adds, "There's a Principle at stake.....
--------------------------
On a table in a Lady's dressing room a folded note sits. "I've found a way to send you a message. So far all is well. All shall be well, I hope. I shall write. -A"
--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/26/2016
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The forested slopes of the hills rising up from the Misermere are hot and lushly overgrown. The Curious Captain pauses beneath a tree's shade to remove their bowler and, with a silk handkerchief drawn from the vest pocket of their morning suit, wipe the beaded sweat away from their forehead. The Tiger at their side has no such relief, and pants in the heat. "We need to find water." The Captain nods in agreement.
"I think I heard a brook over the next hill," the Captain offers. The two set off, cresting a ridge, and descending down into a jungle-filled valley. They try to follow the sounds of running water, but the jungle is treacherous. The sky is invisible through a thick canopy. The ground rises and falls unexpectedly in the hilly terrain. Even sound itself is deadened by the moss underfoot.
The forest is alive with the sounds of insect, birds, a taunting steady drip of moisture from the canopy above.
The Captain does find a particular mirror, and pushes a letter through it. The difficulty has grown, almost beyond the Captain's best efforts. Face white with pain the Captain rises from their knees. He waves off the Tiger's concerned swivel of ears, "I'll be fine in just the briefest moments. But with the mirror this rare, this far out, I fear this might be the last letter I can send. It was almost too difficult this time." The Tiger nods, not disputing the obvious.
Their search for water continues, but no stream is found in the tricky jungle-covered hills.
A thirsty man and tiger continue onwards.
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Back in London, a letter, slightly crumpled:
"In deeper retrospect I do not think I did more than drive off the Ophidian Gentleman, and that I fear by a trick. Blade to blade he is a deadly opponent, but I have a tiger, he did not. The next time we meet we shall each see if things have changed.
"A two-headed snake? How repulsive. The Bishop was right, certainly you must try again. I should agree with him on this as well, no more Snakes.
"'Oh.... gather 'round me bully boys . . .. ' I love that tune well. It is terribly common, I can think of five zongs off-hand that begin with it, and of those the two most popular each have a plethora of verses -- none in common. I don't know of any zailor who knows all the verses to either, they vary from ship to ship, and get handed down and passed off. A verse for a mug is not an uncommon trade at the Blind Helmsman, and a verse for a wager is a very common hazard for dicing at the docks.
"I fear your mirror is becoming harder and harder to find as I near the Mountains, all mirrors are in fact. I find no surprise in that as I finally near an exit from the Mirror Marches. However the farther I get from London the harder the mirror's surface becomes as well.
"Dawon knows of your affection for him, but I shall gladly relay your thoughts of him, to him, as it shall gladden his heart.
"I shall write you again as soon as possible.
"-A
edited by absimiliard on 4/26/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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Vavakx Nonexus
Posts: 892
4/23/2016
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absimiliard wrote:
In darkness a gentle push. Again.
From a distance, vague, soft, words, ".. . .up . . .. . Abs . . . . wake".
Another push, less gentle.
* * *
Under a blood-red sky, riven by fierce clouds at war, a Tiger tries to wake his friend. The Tiger uses words. He tries grooming the collapsed figure. Gently he puts head down, forehead to their side, and shoves, hard, rolling the body over. That wakes the Captain, they try to sit up, failing the first few times, "I'm alive," they croak. "Did we kill it?
"The Oorts? No," the Tiger responds, "that was no more than a finger of it, though the bit that had it's attention." The Tiger pauses, he knows subtlety isn't his strong suit, 'muscles with no brains' is how the matriarch Constance has always referred to him -- he doesn't mind, what Is Is. "You need to find a mirror, did you bring one?
The Captain bursts out laughing, immediately stopping, and cradling their head in pain. "Oh, ouch. Sorry, but, isn't it obvious I brought a mirror?" They crawl across the clearing to a black, blank, mirror frame. Scattered about are shards of the mirrors that once lined a jeweled box, picking one up the Captain looks at their reflection.
"oh," uncharacteristically meek. "That isn't good. I'm melting." They pull themselves to their feet, leaning against a tree and look again at their reflection.
Revealed is a lumpen imitation of humanity. Rough features remain, formed by fingers -- or claws -- from blood-streaked snow. A once delicate face is now more potato-like than man or woman. An aquiline nose is now a mere evocation of itself, a small ball of snow stuck off-center as an afterthought. Green eyes, flecked with gold, remain, and the small bit of flesh around them that was shielded from the Light by a hand raised up defensively. Arms once long and gracile are now imperfect, misshapen, and different in length.
The Captain pulls up their skirts, checks legs beneath, "Still flesh where the rock shielded me." They pull their bodice away, looking down, "Looks like about half-way down. We need to find some place cold, fast.
The Tiger answers, "Then there's really only one place that will do here." The Captain nods. "We'll lose progress.
The Captain nods again. "Indeed. But there's no choice, if I melt . .. . well, who knows what will happen." They close their eyes, and turn around -- in a third direction -- over-their-shoulder -- and open their eyes. Before them are paths, now more moss than stone. The two friends creep past walls with ruined once-delicate friezes barely visible. In depths beneath the the ruins of the Temple, in catacombs, they find darkness and respite from the heat.
"Time," the Captain thinks aloud, "I think that's what we need. Time and sleep. I don't seem to be melting, and I think the snow is changing back to me again.
The tiger interjects, "Snow? Why snow?
"Oh, for that you can blame Mr. Sacks I'm afraid. I'm no more real than the Fingerkings I guess. He made me, with Captain Warwick's blood, for some reason." The Captain looks a bit confused, "At least I'm fairly sure that was me. Well, a part of me, an important one.
"I guess I always thought you were still the Bold Kitten," the Tiger offers. The Captain counters, "Oh no. I'm sorry Dawon, but she's dead. I'm just what's left of her, mixed with a snowman and made real by Salt -- and all that just to gain vengeance on someone they cursed. I probably wouldn't even have survived the Sunlight if not for Salt's desires. Perhaps one Judgement cannot over-rule another Judgement's direct handiwork? Maybe there's a higher power, to which they must appeal, for such things? Who can say?
The Captain laughs, a sad, tired, bitter, laugh.
"Time, that's what we need.
The plot is twisting itself into the tightest of knots.
--
Amets Estibariz, the Moulting Eidolon: Cradled by a sun all their own.
Blabbing, the Hobo Everyone Knows: The One Who Pulls The Strings. A Clarity In The Darkness.
Charlotte and the Caretaker: A family?
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Professor Strix
Posts: 616
4/27/2016
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Hey, I want to give a thumbs up. Let me give a thumbs up. Where's my thumbs up? *hits the thumbs up repeatedly* WHERE?! *refreshes page* Oh, there it is. Very well, then.
--
The Inescapable Professor, London's Most Academic Detective. Open to consultation from Mondays to Fridays, above the Silver Binding bookshop, Veilgarden. Half the payment in advance, half after closing the case. No refunds.
"THIS SATURDAY, in MAHOGANY HALL, delight your eyes with the DARING FEATS of the DAPPER ESCAPIST. Gape at his CHARM and WIT and his CLEVER TRICKS OF ILLUSIONISM. No mirrors used."
---------
Social actions welcomed. Will take menaces if not currently grinding that one stat. Send them and cross your fingers.
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Professor%20Strix
My alt loiters suspiciously if you want to:
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Derek%20Davis
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
4/23/2016
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absimiliard wrote:
Agonizingly, desperately, the Curious Captain pulls themselves to their feet. With the night's passage most of them has become flesh once more, only some of their chest remains blood-stained snow. Where flesh has returned it has returned changed -- now burnished to deeply-tanned bronze by the Sunlight. The Tiger slowly rises to follow their friend.
Terribly slowly, excruciatingly, the two climb up from dark coolness into the sweltering heat of the temple. Long ago there was Harmony and Order here, now there are stone-colored ancient trees growing up amidst ruined walls.
The pair stop, unable to proceed in what was once a walled garden. The Captain collapses, back against a wall, "We'll never make it past the lilies and the trees like this." The Tiger nods, and whimpers as a leg protests action. Above them the sunlight shines shines through a tiny round window into the vegetation beyond. As the Tiger and the Captain collapse into pain-filled sleep the sunlight focuses and a small fire begins to crackle and smoke.
In time the forest outside the garden walls burns. The forest fire rages out from the temple, scorching the land as the dream the friends are in dissolved into another dream. In the garden perfumed smoke drifts -- intoxicating. As the fire burns away the last of its meal, and begins to sleep itself, the Tiger wakes. As it rises, and wakes the Captain, they discover that sleep or the perfumed smoke has healed them . . . somewhat.
Still limping, the Captain swearing, they set out from the Temple into the a new jungle. "Time to find that mirror again," the Captain notes. "I'd like to try to send this letter -- if I have the strength -- before we attempt the lilies." As they search a last, plaintive, comment from the Captain, "Do you think she will forget me? What with her new love, Mr. G__? I could not bear to lose her.
The Tiger shakes its massive head, but is far too wise to reply, perhaps its great-grandmother Constance is wrong about 'all muscles, no brains -- if you like that sort of thing,' after all.
* * *
On a small, damasked, table, a letter from dreams, on the back of it in the corner of the paper, a small brown smear -- dried blood.
"I wish I had better news, but the past seven days have been difficult. The journey has been long, and is now grown terribly hard. Dawon and I must attempt to pass the Lilies of Gold, and their allies the Trees, but I fear our wounds may already be too great. Rest tonight should recover us enough to continue, I hope. They are the last thing between us and the Misermere.
Yesterday we found, and engaged in battle, the Oorts, one of the Fingerkings. We prevailed, and have wounded it and driven it off. I believe we saved the woman it was possessing, I wish so at least. I hope the costs shall not be proven too high. Dawon is limping and cursing, but he shall recover.
If we can not pass the Lilies I fear I may have to turn back. All the effort I went to in obtaining the finest of Mrs. Gebrandt's nostrums has proved an ill investment. Here her bottles are nothing more than images, memories, and the one I tried did nothing to cure my wounds. I fear our progress has now slowed such that I question if we can succeed in reaching the Hanging Mountains. We shall persevere. I should not like anyone, even if just my dearest friend, to think me inconstant in achieving my goals.
I should have preferred to keep much of this from you until my return, I recall how you worried about Mr. Black, but you asked me for truth. I hope I have not chosen poorly. Please try not to worry, if not for your sake then for Mr. G__, let him see your smile -- it lights your face up so, like a new day's dawn illuminating the world -- something I now know of. A grand benefit of coming here, I have, at last, seen the Sun, well, A Sun.
Your dreams of Serpents and rotting flowers worry me. It sounds as if even without mirrors you are terribly close to the Marches. I have heard it said that the eyes of a Correspondent are like mirrors, or maybe it was that Correspondence written on eyes turned them to mirrors ... . blast, I can not recall it. Perhaps you can recall the reference, you are ever the more clever of the two of us, but I wonder if perhaps your eyes are the mirrors linking you to the Marches. Your dreams are terribly strong, I barely dream at all in comparison. Something to discuss on our reunion.
Much as that new dress of yours, I must see it. I'm not so certain of tiaras, but they would suit your hair so much more than mine that I should consider my judgement on them to be, shall we say, 'less than infallible'.
I am pleased to hear of your progress in the Labyrinth. I was certain my recommendation to the Keeper would be justified in time. I can not deny that some of the prisoners are unjustly imprisoned, but it is so difficult to tell who was just guilty of offending the Duchess by hunting cats for secrets -- just an example -- from those who hunted them to kill them, because they were possessed. I have come to trust the judgement of Mr. Inch and the Keeper in these things.
Your most recent letter intrigues me -- a knife that is both blade and mirror. I think I could desperately use such a thing here. I must look into obtaining one somehow when I return.
Be well in all things dear heart. I shall write again when next I can.
Wow, I guess the Writing Widow won't make an appearance... (no connection to this plot) I like this (even if I prefer Prof. Strix comics)
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The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
4/30/2016
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Thank you. I wanted to try to both echo the cards I was drawing, to keep it true to the game's feel, and make it feel like a dream. I'm pleased it succeeded.
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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absimiliard
Posts: 759
5/4/2016
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One last reply, because it is appropriate, a mere text-dump (available on my mantelpiece as well):
You bid farewell to your acolytes, for they cannot follow. The mirror's glass is like cold water on your skin. Behind, the Marches wait.
When you find the Writhing River, you plot a parallel course against the direction of its flow. You keep a good few somniofathoms of distance between you and it - the hissing along the bank is too loud to bear, and the poison mists are a dangerous inconvenience. Your journey takes you down into successive valleys and up their jungled sides (the river climbs as easily as it pours), and slowly the hissing softens. You draw close.
Here, in a humid basin, the river crawls from a crack in the stone one adder at a time. Silver-barked trees grow, weeping gobbets of shining sap. You help yourself to some. You can use that...
edited by absimiliard on 5/4/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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